Two Decades the Difference
by Virtuous Honesty
Summary: Happily married and blessed with a gift for food, Bella is 37 years old and right where she wants to be. That is, until she gets mixed up in an affair with her best cliant's 17 year old son Edward. Fused together by desire, will the pair be able to quit?
1. Chapter 1

37 years.

That's how long I've been alive.

37 birthdays, 37 trips around the sun, 37 times 365 days.

God, I'm old. Too old.

Too old to be out here in the middle of nowhere waiting for you.

You. Positively glorious you.

17 year old you.

But here I am anyway, longing for someone I am forbidden to long for. Yearning for something corrupt and unaccepted.

Illegal.

Sick.

Wrong.

Amazing…

Finally you pull up in that sexy ass silver car of yours that makes me weak in the knees. And you look so fine when you roll down the window and smile at me. Bronze hair, golden eyes, chiseled jaw. So young, so innocent, so….positively sinful.

"Do you need a ride?" you ask, and the smile becomes a smirk.

I grin a grin for only you and nod.

Then I join you in the passenger's side and buckle my seat belt with an audible click.

And we're off driving away from nowhere together. Going somewhere, you and I.

But we don't make it far before you veer off the road and park on the side.

"I've been waiting all week for you," you say, "It's been hell."

"I can see that," I jest, nodding at the prominent bulge in your pants.

And then you are pulling me to the backseat and reaching up my clothes. And touching me in places only you can make burn.

And I am touching you.

And you don't stop touching me.

And we are touching each other.

Then we are one. Our breathing, our voices, our very being is mixed together.

So that I am fresh and you are experienced.

Each thrust taking us farther and farther away from the reality we don't want.

And right now it doesn't matter that there are 20 years between us.

And right now the gold band on my finger holds no meaning.

And right now my job is not on the line.

Because there is just us and our desire to be part of each other.

And then there is climax.

And then it is over.

And I am left, gasping in your arms, wondering how I got here.

Isabella the loving wife.

Isabella the world's greatest chef.

Isabella the unfaithful middle aged woman who has sex with a minor.

With you.

Edward the 17 year old teenager.

Edward the son of my most important customer.

Edward the most incredible lover I've ever had.


	2. Chapter 2

I never meant for it to happen. I'm not one of those creepy women who hang out in sleazy night clubs and scan the crowds for some cute boy to make them feel young again. Actually, I'm not even attracted to younger guys.

But there is an exception to every rule and, for me, you were that exception.

The beginning of this whole thing was a pivotal day in my life. Pivotal for two very big reasons:

First; I met you.

Second; I met your mother.

Six months ago. While I was still 36.

I was groggy and the alarm clock wouldn't shut up. I moaned and groaned and begged it to, but it showed no mercy. It just kept screaming. Screaming like a newborn baby intent on keeping its parents up all night.

I didn't have a baby, so why did I have an alarm clock?

Because I had a job. And a bad habit of staying up late and sleeping in later. And I had to work that day.

Ugh.

So I sucked it up.

I got on my feet without bothering to check the other side of the bed that I knew would be empty. Grabbed some sloppy old t-shirt and what felt like pants. I may have been on my feet but that didn't mean my eyes had to stay open. I wasn't ready for that yet.

Eventually I made it to the bathroom. I turned the water all the way to hot. Cold water would wake me up, but who wants to go from a warm, cozy bed to a stinging, icy shower? Not me that's for damn sure.

Sometimes I sang in the shower. It was the only time I sang. The only time I could sing without humiliating myself. But those times were usually at night when the foggy walls and steamy clouds surrounding me represented the ending of a day. The winding down part. My favorite part.

This time was not one of those times. This time they represented my least favorite part. The get-your-ass-in-gear-and-get-the-hell-outta-here part that every sane person on the planet hates.

Hot showers are relaxing. I was already half asleep when I got in. Now I was staggering around trying to get my clothes on without falling on the floor like a drunk lunatic. It wasn't because I was afraid I'd hurt myself if I fell. It was because if I fell I'd pass out on the floor and never get to work.

I was shocked when I made it out of there fully dressed and still vertical.

Klutziness has been a part of my life since before I was out of the womb. My mom told me instead of kicking her from the inside out, I tumbled into her. I asked her how that was possible. She said I found a way and blamed me for cursing her with the spare tire she's been unable to lose since the day I was born.

But even dead on my feet I hadn't fallen in the bathroom.

Maybe it was a sign.

Maybe today would be one of those rare days that the world didn't seem to conspire against me.

Yeah, and maybe my husband would be standing in the kitchen making breakfast for me when I turned the corner.

And maybe I'd find a billion dollars stuffed in my bra.

I turned the corner.

No husband with a platter of eggs and bacon.

I checked my bra.

No billion dollars.

Or maybe that one smidgen of luck would cost me a week's worth of downright awful luck.

Yes, that seemed more likely.

So instead of eggs and bacon, I ate like a queen and had a granola bar.

I realize that, given my occupation, you might have expected me to make something more elaborate. But the sun wasn't even up yet. And I was going to spend all day on more elaborate things.

And, incase you haven't picked up on it, I wasn't all that thrilled to be going in that day. If you honestly believe I was going to start work early and waste precious time and energy on myself, there's something seriously wrong with you.

Anyway, after I was done eating I set off to Eric's office.

Eric Yorkie the overly friendly man who is a genius.

Eric Yorkie the obsessive man who is a workaholic.

Eric Yorkie the adoring man who is my husband.

I found the obsessive workaholic Eric slumped over his computer desk snoring. Just the same as I did most mornings.

His black hair was in an even more chaotic state than usual. From this angle I could see it was beginning to thin slightly on the crown of his head. That was understandable. Obsessive workaholics were always stressed.

When we first met he had bad skin, but that had thankfully cleared up. It wasn't that I was offended personally by it. Other people were. They judged him and his overly friendly nature. Chalked him up to be no more than a pathetic nerd.

Alright, I'll admit I did the same thing the first time I saw him. I wasn't openly unkind to him though so he stuck around. And I'm glad he did. For the most part.

No, I really am glad he did.

We were acquaintances in high school who went off to separate colleges and all but completely forgot about each other. We both excelled in our education leading us back to each other at some higher up facility I can't remember the name of. It had both my cooking classes and his genius classes for some odd reason that I always meant to figure out but never actually got around to.

That was eight years after graduation. Eric and I were 26.

I was 31 when I walked down the aisle.

If it was up to me the wedding would have been sooner. But Eric didn't want to rush it. So we waited five years.

He's about two months older than me.

That doesn't mean I'm attracted to Eric though.

Not to say he's bad looking. He isn't.

I've just never been physically drawn to him. Or physically drawn to anyone really.

At the time, I was basically convinced the whole thing was a joke. Convinced it was impossible for someone to make your heart pound out of your chest from a simple touch. Ridiculous.

You proved me wrong.

But back to Eric…

I placed a hand on his arm and shook it lightly.

"Eric? Come on. Time to go to bed," I said.

I felt envious of my own words.

How I wished the tables were turned and _he _was saying that to _me_.

It took a little more coaxing but he came to.

"Huh?" he looked around seeming disoriented, "What?"

I stopped shaking his arm. Began to stroke it instead.

"You fell asleep again."

"Did I really? Hell I didn't mean to. I just got so-"

"Caught up. I know. But you really should lie down."

"Okay."

He stood up. "Hey, don't you have to work today?"

There's my genius.

"Yep. Do you think I'd be up otherwise?"

"Right. Are you nervous?"

The question caught me off guard.

"Why would I be nervous?"

"I thought you said some rich lady was supposed to be coming in today…"

And then it hit me.

"Elizabeth Mason!"

Oh.

My.

God.

Elizabeth Mason was coming in today.

Filthy rich Elizabeth Mason.

She who has the power to make or break me.

Who had booked an appointment two months before.

An appointment that I had been counting down toward with nervous anticipation.

And now the day was here.

And I completely forgot about it.

"Yeah. Her," Eric said, totally oblivious.

"Oh thank God you reminded me! I didn't remember at all!"

"Seriously? It's all you've been talking about for-"

"I know, I know! I can't believe it either! This could be the most important day of my entire career and I just- I-"

His hands reached out and curled around the tops of my arms.

"Stop," he said.

"How am I supposed to stop? Eric, if she doesn't like me I'm finished! Done!"

He met my eyes.

"Bella, baby, she'll like you. She will. And she'll like your cooking even better. Chillax."

I snorted.

'Chillax'.

"You know I hate that word."

Eric smiled. He always did have a nice smile.

"Yeah, I know. But that's exactly what you should be doing. Just do your stuff and knock her socks off. It'll be fine."

I sighed and peaked around him to see the time on the computer screen. I wasn't late. But I would be if I hung around any longer.

"I have to go."

"Okay. I love you."

"Love you too."

He leaned over and kissed by shoulder. A common gesture for him.

Then he left in search of his bed.

And I left in search of my future.

*

My boss Esme was waiting for me when I got there. Her usually serene, kind features rearranged anxiously on her face.

And I knew what must have happened.

"She showed up early, didn't she?" I asked.

"An hour early. I tried to call you, but I didn't get an answer."

"Shit."

Well that was a great way to start off.

"Don't worry. She doesn't seem angry."

"_Seem _being the operative word."

Esme looked at me with authority.

"Bella, you're the best I have. Go out there like a professional. Make sure you're the one preparing the food for that party. Her business would set us off like nothing else. We need this."

She stepped forward to embrace me.

"Make me proud," she said.

"I will," I promised.

I made my way carefully across the room. If my luck had been used up in the bathroom this morning, I wasn't taking any chances.

You and your mom were easy to spot.

It was obvious you both came from a different world than the rest of us.

Not because of your quality clothing.

Not because even your carefully disheveled hair didn't have a strand out of place.

But because of the way you held yourselves.

In your very stance one could tell you hadn't lived one day when the world conspired against you.

Instead it conspired for you.

You weren't privileged to be citizens of the planet.

The planet was privileged to be sustaining you.

All of this I knew the instant I saw you standing with your backs to me.

"Ms. Mason?" I asked.

She turned around.

And you turned around.

And every person I'd ever known suddenly became very boring.

I extended one hand to her.

"Hello, I'm Isabella Yorkie. We spoke over the phone a few months ago."

She took it.

"Oh yes, I remember. It's a pleasure."

"The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Mason."

"Liz," your mother corrected, "You can call me Liz."

"Liz then. You can call me Bella."

She smiled an enchanting smile.

"Bella it is."

She released my hand and turned toward you.

"Bella, this is my son Edward."

I held out my hand again. To you this time.

"Should I call you Ed?"

Your mother giggled.

You chuckled.

Your laughs made music together.

"No, just Edward," you said wrapping your hand around mine.

And when you touched me my heart tried to escape my chest.

And I knew you were different.


	3. Chapter 3

I spent the next two hours talking to your mother.

I gave out samples of my best dishes.

I discussed hours and pricing.

But more than anything, I watched you.

The way you walked when we went to sit down.

The way you sat when we got there.

How you kept crossing and uncrossing your arms.

Like you couldn't decide what to do with them.

Your every move fascinated me.

I'm a cook. Not a salesgirl. When it came to the art of persuasion my canvas was pathetically blank. It was one of the main reasons behind my nervousness. This was an important job and if I failed to book it just because of my inability to sway someone…Well, that would be not only terrible but embarrassing.

But I was Picasso that day.

I talked about deals and discounts, made a dozen offers, and made a dozen more when the slightest complaint came out of your mother's mouth. My voice was level, serious, hardcore. I sounded like I knew exactly what I was doing. I sounded how I always wished I would sound.

And as much as I would like to tell you it was because of how much this meant to Esme, meant to our business, I can't.

It was you.

It was the way it felt when you shook my hand.

It was finding something I never knew was out there.

And knowing that if I didn't get this you would walk out the door.

And I'd lose what I'd found forever.

I couldn't let that happen.

So I became the best salesgirl I could be. I stretched beyond what I ever knew I was capable of. By the end I wasn't even sure I was the one controlling the steady stream of well worded closings.

But somehow I was.

And when I finally fell silent I could see you were impressed too.

And that made me ridiculously happy.

"Congratulations, Bella," your mother said, "You've sold me."

"Really?"

Was it possible it had sounded as good to her as it had to me?

She smiled that enchanting smile again.

"Of course you have. I wouldn't dream of going anywhere else. Not after those samples."

While she signed papers and got arrangements finalized, I stared at you.

I tried to be subtle, but then you said "What?"

And I knew I had failed.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly, "Your eyes are just such a weird color. I've never seen eyes like that before. They're beautiful."

I wanted to bite my tongue off.

Had that sounded as creepy as I'd thought it had?

But your mother said, "They are, aren't they? Just like his father's. You know I was so excited when he inherited them. Even more so when his father passed away. They're a gift."

And threw another smile my way.

And I almost sighed with relief before I felt the remorse.

Here I'd thought you'd never lived through a bad day and you had lost your father.

I looked back at those oddly beautiful eyes of yours.

And I saw that you'd lived through many horrible days.

And I was wrong to assume you hadn't.

"All right well I suppose that's everything," your mother said a moment later.

It was only then I noticed how properly she spoke.

I wondered if she only spoke that way while doing business.

Or if maybe the formality came naturally to her.

But I wasn't making anymore assumptions.

"We'll call you sometime next week. We can schedule a time to discuss themes," I said.

She nodded.

"Thank you, Bella. You've been very helpful. We'll see you sometime next week."

She shook my hand again in parting.

You approached me as she turned away.

"See you," you said.

You took the hand your mother had just given back.

My heart raced.

And the way that you smiled at me while you held it made me think that maybe my watching you earlier had not been subtle either.

And you had not taken my comment about your eyes as lightly as your mother had.

And I was in trouble.

Not the kind of trouble I would have expected.

Not the kind that meant you were disturbed.

That meant the arrangement we had just made was not going to happen.

No, not that kind.

The kind that said you were _intrigued_.

And I wasn't sure if that was worse or not.


	4. Chapter 4

I went home later grinning from ear to ear.

It was four o'clock on a Monday.

And I was ready to party like it was Saturday night.

I slammed the car door behind me and bolted into the house.

The way I felt coming through the front door was night and day to the way I felt leaving it just a few hours ago.

It seemed like my life had changed exponentially since then.

And maybe it had.

Eric left to go to his own job while I was working.

He wouldn't be home until sometime after eight.

Which meant I had the place to myself.

And that was just the way I wanted it.

Because I knew when Eric was there I would have to face the guilt.

Guilt over my extreme attraction to a man who had to be at least 15 years younger than me.

Could I even call you a man?

I thought of the way you had lowered yourself into the chair this morning.

Replayed you crossing and uncrossing his arms.

Unconsciously flexing and relaxing the muscles your clothes hinted at.

Yes.

Yes, I could definitely call you a man.

The first thing I did was look for some music.

Silence was nice sometimes.

But I didn't feel like silence right now.

So I put on Kiss's 'I Was Made For Loving You' and rejoiced in the fact that for the first time I had proof the lyrics weren't total bull.

Before I could get too lost in my efforts of bad dancing, I decided to channel my energy elsewhere.

I was basking in the glory of finding you.

Finding someone that made me feel something.

But Eric's presence was everywhere.

It was _our _home.

And that meant even my basking was tainted with a nagging sickness.

If that physical draw really did exist, then why didn't I feel it with him?

He was the man I shared my life with.

The man I vowed to love till death.

And yet I hadn't ever been absorbed with him like I was you.

It didn't make sense.

In any case I needed to do something for Eric.

So I started on a dinner that would knock _his _socks off.

Throwing enthusiasm for the wrong reason into the right cause.

I figured it was a fair enough balance.

And that was what I did until half past eight.

At which point I had the red tablecloth we used for special occasions out with candles lit. The salad was on the table. The main entrée rested in the center. Side dishes surrounded it like servants paying tribute to their leader.

I turned off the lights.

And the golden glow the flames made was beautiful.

Golden.

Beautiful.

Just like your eyes…

The garage door opened.

Eric was back.

As a last minute touch I grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses and added them to the display.

I stood at the dining room entrance and contemplated my handiwork.

It was nice.

Very nice if I do say so myself.

I pulled my hair out of the ponytail I kept it in while cooking, shook it out, turned toward the door, and waited.

The doorknob jiggled.

And the door itself jiggled.

And then it swung out of the way.

And Eric stood before me with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and the tie around his neck loosened.

I felt the guilt I had been tasting all day hit me full force.

And nothing else.

No fascination.

No draw.

None of the things I realized I had been hoping for.

But I smiled anyway.

Even if there wasn't any crazy chemical reaction.

I was still happy to see him.

I still loved him.

I was still his.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi," he said.

He caught sight of my smile and returned it.

"How'd it go today?" he asked.

I decided to show rather than tell.

I approached him slowly and took the papers he held out of his hands, turning around and placing them on the end table. I took one of his newly freed hands in both of my own…

And paused.

But my heart continued slow and steady as ever.

I stared down at our hands.

And tried to force myself to respond.

Nothing.

"Bella?"

I wasn't sure why but suddenly I was blinking back tears.

I realized I had stopped smiling.

Forcing one back on my face, not releasing his hand, I pulled Eric into the dining room.

Then I turned my back to him and faced the fruit of my labor.

I cleared my throat, "How do you think it went?"

It came out sounding normal, so I wasn't sure why it took him so long to answer.

"Wow," he finally said, "I'd say pretty well."

He laughed.

It sounded uncomfortable.

I didn't think my eyes would look wet anymore so I risked facing him.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing it's just…I uh told Mike I'd have dinner with him and Tyler tonight."

Mike and Tyler were Eric's 'friends' from work.

I use the term 'friends' because they weren't really friends at all. They used Eric. Called on him to help them out when their stupidity got them in trouble and never returned the favor. Not to mention their inappropriate interest in me.

But who am I to talk about inappropriate interest, right?

I didn't like them six months ago either so when he mentioned them I went automatically sour.

"Oh. What do they want this time?"

"Just dinner."

"So they say."

"Come on, Bella, don't be like that."

"You see them everyday at work. You eat lunch with them. I don't see why you have to go have dinner too."

"Actually I don't see them. Ever since I got promoted, it's almost like they're not there. I haven't seen them in so long-"

"It hasn't been long enough."

He started to get irritated.

"Could you not be so hard on them? Just because you think they take advantage of me-"

"I don't think, Eric. I know."

"Can I finish a sentence please?"

Definitely irritated.

It wasn't easy, but I shut my mouth.

"Thank you."

A quiet moment passed before he started to talk again.

"Listen. I'm sorry I can't do this with you right now, but we can celebrate another time, okay? I'll take you out this weekend or something," his voice was gentler now.

Okay? Okay that I had slaved over a hot stove for him for the last four hours?

No, that wasn't okay.

Okay that I had been motivated to do it by the guilt of longing for another man?

That wasn't okay either.

And if I told him the truth, if I told him everything that had happened that day, if I told him everything I had felt...He definitely wouldn't be eating with me.

So who was I to throw a fit because he didn't want to celebrate you with me?

"Okay," I said, "Go ahead and go."

He took my hands in his.

And I didn't feel anything.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I told him.

He placed a quick kiss on my temple.

And he went.


	5. Chapter 5

It took a few minutes before I could move from where I was.

Why I'm not exactly sure.

Maybe some part of me hoped that Eric wouldn't really leave.

And that part needed to hear the garage.

Needed to hear his car pull away.

Needed to feel the emptiness he left behind.

Well whatever it was, it was satisfied once music was the only noise in the house again.

Satisfaction meant movement.

Movement meant going to sit down at the table.

Sitting down at the table meant gazing out at all of the food and wondering how I was ever going to eat it alone.

The CD I had been listening to was on its' 12th track.

It only had 12 tracks on it.

So when that 12th track faded to a close there was nothing but silence to take its place.

Silence…and then a doorbell.

I was puzzled, but welcomed the distraction.

Rising from my seat, I made my way to the front door.

I expected a delivery man telling me he needed my signature for some package Eric had ordered without telling me.

It wouldn't be the first time.

I speculated it might be a door-to-door salesman with a memorized speech about what I didn't and should have.

That definitely wouldn't be a first.

What I didn't even dream about in the farthest reachings of my mind was that I would open the door to find you.

You standing there in all your glory.

You smiling at me like it was the most natural thing in the world to show up at a stranger's house at nine o'clock at night.

You looking dangerous as all get out.

But that's exactly what I found.

**A/N: It's really short, I know. Sorry about that, but I'm short on time tonight and I wanted to post **_**something. **_**Thank you twirlacullen517 for requesting I have Edward show up on Bella's doorstep. Originally, I was just going to move on from that night but this is so much more interesting and gets the plot moving faster. So, thank you you are a genius! And thank you everyone else who reads this story, especially those who take the time to review. I appreciate it more than you know.**


	6. Chapter 6

"Edward Mason?" I asked, not believing what I was seeing.

Your smile became more pronounced.

"Bella," you said.

It wasn't a question.

But it was the first time you said my name.

And never before that name escaped your lips had I believed it was beautiful.

Your voice taught me otherwise.

I stared at you dumbfounded and more tongue tied than I'd ever been. Why on Earth would _you _come _here_? Fantasies weren't reality. They were on completely opposite ends of two completely different spectrums.

I hoped maybe you were desperate…

But just looking at you ruled out that possibility.

And then it dawned on me.

And I felt like an idiot.

A perverted idiot.

Hadn't we just made a business deal that morning?

You were here for your mother.

Any rational person would have made that intuitive leap instantly.

It was perfectly sane.

Perfectly practical.

Pathetically disappointing…

I forced a polite smile, "What can I do for you?"

The question was meant as a professional one, it really was. But once it was out there filling the space between us…well, the double meaning was impossible to ignore.

Oh the things I wanted to do for you…

I was disgusted with myself.

So very, very disgusted.

But if a mere handshake had such a powerful effect…

Your eyes flickered through the open doorway behind me and back.

"Do you mind if I come in?" was your only response to my question.

If I told you everything those words did to me, we'd never move on from that night. Even now, six months later, those words are still echoing in my head. They are still taunting me. Still keeping me up at night. And when I am finally too exhausted to ponder them consciously, I ponder them unconsciously. In my dreams I continue to replay them. Searching for their every hidden meaning, their every point of emphasis.

Those words started everything.

So you can only imagine what the initial shock must have been like.

Or maybe you can do more than that since I'm sure you saw it on my face.

Sure because your already pronounced smile upgraded itself to a grin.

A very knowing, very cocky, extremely sexy grin.

"Sure," I finally squeaked.

I moved to the side to let you by.

You thanked me.

Then I shut the door.

And the rest of the world was closed off from us.

It wasn't until I turned around that I realized how bad this could be. If you were here for your mother, which you had to be, chances were whatever message you showed up to deliver wasn't a good one. People didn't ask to come in over good news. They came in when they were going to tell you something potentially hurtful. When they were going to let you down easy.

And I knew you were here because your mother had found someone else.

Someone whose samples tasted better.

Who was a damn good salesgirl.

Not just an imposter who happened to have a lucky day.

Esme would be torn to pieces.

I felt a deep sadness as I thought of how thrilled she'd been today. After your departure, we'd spent every spare second talking. Talking and planning and laughing. We almost danced through kitchen.

My coworkers had too, but theirs wasn't as significant as Esme's joy. Theirs was tainted with jealousy. Hers was pure.

There was such light in her eyes.

Such _life _in them.

Such vibrancy.

It had been so long since she'd seemed that happy.

Calm, sure.

Kind, always.

But ever since Carlisle…

So the last thing I wanted to do was tear her apart.

I wasn't paying attention to what was going on around me, distracted as I was, so you surprised me when you asked, "Are you expecting someone?"

"No," I said.

I looked around to figure out what had made you ask.

And I found we were in the dining room.

The candlelit dining room that boasted an atmospheric feast for two.

How wonderful.

How terrible.

How confusing…

"It was for my husband," I admitted reluctantly.

For a reason I'm sure you can figure out, I didn't want to tell you I was married.

But there was no use in lying to you.

Not when it didn't make a difference anyway.

Your gaze zeroed in on my wedding band for a fraction of a second.

Then they wandered back to the table.

"Was? It doesn't look like he finished it."

"He didn't."

"Where is he then?"

"Having dinner."

The words oozed with acid.

You noticed.

"With someone else?"

I nodded.

Your face twisted.

Oh. Oops.

"Not that kind of 'someone'. Just some friends."

The twisting remained.

"He'd rather eat with his friends than you?"

"Apparently."

I was too miffed to defend him though I knew I should have.

"But whether he's here to eat it or not, it's getting cold. And I don't like cold food. So if you could just get on with telling me Liz found someone else…"

I didn't want to rush your visit.

I didn't want to rush this conversation.

But I didn't want to talk about my absent husband with you.

You who looked way too good in the dimmed lighting.

Who I longed for in a way I longed for no one else.

So I took the direct approach.

You blinked.

"That's not what I'm here for."

"What?"

That had to be what you were here for.

"My mom didn't find anyone else."

"She…didn't?"

"No. Actually, we didn't even look anywhere else after seeing you. The search was over."

You were smiling again.

I returned the expression inwardly. I wouldn't have to hurt Esme after all.

But now I really didn't understand.

"Then…what do you need to tell me?"

Suddenly the floor was of great interest to you.

"Today I thought…when we met…"

Eyes returning to my face with a sudden bravery you continued, "You like me, don't you?"

And it was clear in the way you said it just what kind of 'like' you were referring to.

Exactly the right kind.

Exactly the wrong kind.

Exactly the kind that made goose bumps rise on my skin and made it hard to breathe.

What should I say?

Should I deny it?

_Could _I deny it?

But my reaction, my face, did the talking for me.

And when I met your eyes again I saw you already knew the truth.

I braced myself for what you would do.

But you simply turned your attention back to the table and said, "Can I join you?"

This was bad.

This was very bad.

I knew that.

And still all I could say was:

"Yes."


	7. Chapter 7

"Did you make all of this?" you asked as we began to eat Eric's dinner.

"Mm hmm."

I took a bite.

It wasn't cold, but it wasn't warm either.

"That explains why it tastes so good."

I smiled.

"I'm glad you think so."

"If I didn't, do you think we would have hired you?"

"Good point."

The only sound was the clink of silverware.

I thought about the scene being played out here.

A husband who leaves his wife to go out with his friends. A wife who takes advantage of her unknowing husband's absence, and then proceeds to seat another man in said husband's place.

I pushed the meal guiltily around my plate.

I didn't want to eat it anymore.

It made me sick.

"Is something wrong?"

_Yes, _I wanted to tell you, _everything is wrong._

Instead I told you it was nothing.

You weren't convinced.

"You know, this isn't wrong. Your husband's having dinner with his friends; you should be able to have it with yours."

"I don't think Eric likes Mike and Tyler the way I like you," I said.

"What way is that?" you smirked.

It was clear my response to your earlier question had erased any doubts you had about my feelings.

My eyes roamed over you and all sickness momentarily vanished.

The air around us grew abruptly heavy.

I swallowed, "A bad way."

"A _bad _way?"

Your voice darkened and my heart kicked up a notch.

I wasn't the only one feeling the weight.

"Yes, a very bad way."

"Why is it bad?"

I leaned toward you.

And it wasn't until I did that I discovered you were leaning toward me too.

"Because…Because I'm married," I whispered as it became difficult to form words.

"I know," you murmured.

You were no longer looking at my eyes.

You were looking at my lips.

I began to breathe harder.

But I knew there was another reason this was bad.

And I needed to remind myself of it.

I needed to remind myself before I did something extremely stupid.

Like close the distance between our mouths…

"And I'm…too…too…"

I struggled to complete the thought.

"You're too...?"

We were so close to kissing.

So damn close…

Too close.

I jerked away from you, getting up from the table and grabbing hold of my unfinished plate.

"Too full," I said, "Are you done?"

"Actually, I wasn't even close," you answered with disappointment clear in your tone.

I was sure you weren't talking about the dinner.

Piling your plate on top of mine, I turned and walked into the kitchen.

I set the plates in the sink and turned on the faucet.

I shut my eyes and took a slow breath.

The sound of running water was comforting.

Comforting until I felt a hand rest on my shoulder.

A hand.

Your hand.

"That wasn't what you were going to say."

"What?" I asked, whirling around to face you.

"Being full has nothing to do with why this is bad."

At the word 'this' you dropped your hand and grabbed the counter I now had my back to so your arms were on either side of me.

Trapping me.

And standing closer than I expected too.

"No," I agreed uneasily.

"So what were you going to say?" you pressed, voice dark again.

I found the response I wanted faster this time.

"That I'm too old. I'm too old for you."

Standing this way, with no table between us, we were closer than we'd ever been.

When you took a step forward, I could feel your body against mine.

And it was a hundred times better than the handshake.

And all reason flew out the window.

And I was going to kiss you or die trying.

"No, your not," you said.

And suddenly our mouths weren't separate anymore.

My arms wrapped themselves around you, embracing the overwhelming heat that flashed through my veins like wildfire.

Wildfire that was uncontrollable and destroyed all that had been there before it came.

You and I, _we _were wildfire.

And burning had never felt so good.

You released the counter, grabbing hold of me like I was holding you.

And I felt I was right about the muscles your clothes hinted at.

And I felt you were relishing in the burn as much as I was.

And I felt….

I felt…

Absolutely horrible.

I pushed away from you forcefully as tears welled up in my eyes.

"I'm so sorry," I gasped.

Sobs tore at me until streams of emotion flooded my cheeks.

You opened your mouth to react, but I didn't let you talk.

I wonder sometimes what it was you were going to say.

But at the time all I wanted was for you to be gone.

"Go," I said.

"But-"

"Please. Please go," I begged as I continued to fall apart at the seams.

You stared at me for a minute.

I couldn't see clearly enough to read anything in that stare.

And then you left.

I went to bed early that night.

Eric got home and joined me sometime later having no idea anyone had been here while he hadn't.

I kept my back turned to him and pretended I was asleep.

He bought the charade.

And at the end of that pivotal day in my life, I cried myself to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

The next few days passed miserably slow.

Every second seemed like a minute.

Every minute seemed like an hour.

Every hour seemed like a day.

I got up, got dressed, went to work, and came home.

But all the while I was suffering.

I couldn't bear to be around Eric. Not even to wake him up from his desk in the morning. But if I couldn't do it, something had to. So I invested in an alarm clock for him.

He cornered me in the kitchen once and asked me about it. I scrubbed the dish I was holding with deep concentration, muttering some excuse about not having the time to do it anymore.

"Oh," was his only response.

If Eric noticed my distance, he never said anything.

And I was thankful for that.

He didn't pay enough attention to ask where that dinner I made went. Like it was perfectly normal for me to be able to finish it off all by myself in a span of just a few hours. It never crossed his mind.

Just like the extra plate in the sink that belonged to you.

And I was very thankful for that.

I was constantly nervous at work. Nervous and distracted. Not a good combination when cooking.

But I couldn't erase the image of you walking through the door with your mother.

Or worse.

You walking through the door without her.

So it was under those circumstances that I began to burn my projects. I forgot ingredients. I fell behind on due dates.

And I became very, very stressed.

You probably think it's not possible for your life to fall apart in three days.

But I am living proof that it is.

By Friday contentment was a distant memory.

And happiness was forgotten.

I'm sorry to share this with you, but this is what happened. And I think you should know that the road to where we are now was not an easy one for me. I never meant for it to happen…

Now, where was I?

Oh.

Friday.

Right.

On Friday your mother called.

Esme handed me the phone with a grin and an excited sparkle in her eye and I didn't have to ask who it was.

"Hello?" I asked.

"Hello, Bella. It's Liz."

She sounded as pleasant as ever.

I didn't _think _you would tell her about your little visit, but I wasn't sure.

"Hi."

"You never called, so I thought I'd take the scheduling of our next meeting into my own hands. I hope you don't mind."

No, before you ask, I hadn't forgotten to call her.

I just didn't want to.

The last thing I needed was 'our next meeting'.

But what went on between you and I didn't make your mother's business less valuable.

"I don't mind."

"Great. How does next Tuesday sound for you?"

Tuesday.

That gave me three days.

Three days before I would have to risk facing you again.

Sweat gathered on my forehead at the thought.

But if three days was enough time for my life to fall apart, it should be enough time to put it back together.

And if I wasn't going to back out of this, I would have to face you sometime.

So I said, "Tuesday sounds fine."

"All right then, Bella. We'll meet you at your workplace first thing in the morning."

_We'll _meet you?

I fought the urge to groan.

"Okay."

"Goodbye."

"Bye."

I hung up, then slumped down against the wall.

I put my head in my hands.

On Tuesday I would get up, get dressed, go to work, and you would be waiting for me.

Bright and early.

First thing in the morning.

God, I hated mornings.

*

Time is never on your side.

When you want it to pass, it lingers forever.

When you want it to last, it escapes before you realize its there.

Which is why those three days flew away from me so quickly.

One minute I was talking to your mother, the next I was standing in front of the mirror on Tuesday morning.

And I was wrong about being able to get myself together in those few days.

In fact, if anything, I was even more of a mess.

I didn't know what to expect.

From me.

From you.

From anyone.

I stared at my reflection and traced the ghosts of wrinkles that shadowed my skin.

Around my eyes.

Around my mouth.

They were very settle.

Barely noticeable, thank the lord.

But they were still there.

Just waiting to _become _noticeable.

You'd said I wasn't too old for you, but you had to know I was.

I sighed.

Worrying over how I looked was pointless.

After I burst into tears and ordered you from the house, I was confident you wouldn't even be glancing in my direction anymore.

And that was just the way it should be.

And I knew that.

So why, I wondered, did it bother me so much?

I didn't know the answer.

And, at that moment, I didn't want to know it.

*

When I walked in the first person I saw was your mother.

My heart pounded loudly.

Louder than it had already been pounding.

And then it stopped altogether.

She was alone.

You.

Weren't.

With.

Her.

How anticlimactic was that?

Luckily I got my pulse back before my death turned the anticlimactic thing around.

And as I made my way over to her I realized that just because I didn't see you right away didn't mean you weren't present.

You could have been doing your mother a favor; maybe she left something in the car.

You could have been in the bathroom; that was a perfectly natural possibility.

Or you could have been just curious; I wouldn't have been surprised to find you wandering around the building.

If you were capable of wandering your way to my house, you were certainly capable of that.

Your mother saw me then.

"Good morning, Bella," she smiled.

"Good morning," I answered.

I knew she wanted me to call her Liz, but it still felt improper.

Improper like how it would feel to jump straight to asking about you, no matter how much I yearned to know where you were.

"How are you?" I made myself ask instead.

"Fine, I'm just fine, and I hope I stay that way. Poor Edward's feeling under the weather today. I told him he should come, it's his party we're planning after all, but he simply wasn't feeling up to it."

She'd given me the information I'd wanted and more.

You weren't there.

You weren't there because you got sick.

You got sick on the day you were supposed to see me.

On the day you were supposed to see the woman you'd left crying on the floor just over a week ago.

The woman you probably never wanted to see again.

How _convenient _for you.

But I was concerned with something else she'd said.

"It's Edward's party?"

Your mother nodded, "Yes, his belated 17th birthday. We always have his parties late. He was born in June, you see, and we go on vacation. But what kind of mother would I be if I denied him the chance to celebrate with his friends?"

I nodded back.

It was all I could do.

The rest of me was frozen.

I'd known it was all bad.

My attraction to you.

My fantasizing about you.

My kissing you especially.

But I hadn't known it was _illegal_.

You were 17.

You were a minor.

You were practically a child.

And I was even worse off than I'd imagined.


	9. Chapter 9

I only vaguely remember the rest of that conversation with your mother.

The remainder of the workday is even more a blur.

Eventually, though, I made it home.

And, eventually, so did Eric.

I was curled up on the couch staring blankly ahead.

I still hadn't come to terms with your age.

And it wasn't until my husband was almost directly in front of me that I realized I wasn't alone.

"Are you sick?" he was asking as he sat down beside me.

I shook my head.

I wasn't sick.

Not physically anyway.

He put his hand on my shoulder.

I tried not to remember that a different hand had rested and felt better there.

I tried hard.

But I failed miserably.

It was all I could do not to flinch away.

"Well, you don't look so good," Eric told me.

My shoulders rose in a halfhearted shrug that caused his hand to slip.

He resituated it on my back, "I was thinking, since I didn't have time over the weekend, we could go out tonight."

"Tonight? Why?" I forced out.

"To congratulate you on being the prettiest, most talented person on the planet," he beamed.

That was hard to hear when I felt like such an ugly mess.

I gave him a disbelieving look.

Eric laughed, "You're talented enough for that Mason woman, aren't you?"

_Yes. As a matter of fact, honey, I'm so talented I made out with her son in our kitchen and fed him your dinner. Oh, and did I tell you he's 17? Yes, I am excited about going to jail! You'll visit me, won't you darling?_

"I guess so," I said.

Confusion drew his black brows together.

"I thought you were excited about working for her."

"I am," I half lied.

He sighed.

And finally the question I had been waiting for came out.

"Okay, what's the matter?"

"Nothing. I'm just….stressed."

It was the most honest answer I could give.

It also turned out to be the best answer I could give.

Eric returned to his beaming before he said, "I know the feeling."

And I knew he was happy because stress was something he could understand.

"Going out would be the best thing for you, then. Get your mind off things."

He nodded his head as he spoke as if assuring himself he was right.

I was convinced the opposite was true.

Being in his company for even this short conversation was torture.

I couldn't imagine spending an entire evening with him.

"Eric-" I started to object.

"Whatever it is, don't worry about it," he interrupted.

Then he kissed my shoulder and stood.

"Give me two hours to finish things up and we'll leave. I promise."

"Alright," I surrendered.

And he paraded happily out of sight.

*

Four hours later, after the promise had long been broken, we slid into a booth at a nearby restaurant.

"Do you like this place?" Eric wondered.

"Yeah," I said.

I picked up my menu and became overly engrossed in it.

"I thought I remembered the food being good."

"Mm hmm," I continued to read.

He began to look over his menu too.

Too soon he had his mind made up.

And if I studied the meal opportunities any longer he would probably ask if something was the matter again.

So I released my shield to save myself from having to lie.

And I told him what I was going to order just to make conversation.

And he said something.

I'm sure he said something.

But I have no idea what it was.

Because out of the corner of my eye I saw someone watching me.

Someone sitting just two tables to the left of ours.

Someone who I should have seen this morning.

Someone that captivated me.

You.

My head whipped to the side immediately.

And our eyes met.

And you held my gaze until your companion reached over to wave his hand in front of your face.

He was a particularly big and intimidating guy.

Big and intimidating enough to break me free from my trance.

And I turned back to Eric nervously.

But he hadn't noticed my transfixion.

He was too busy dumping multiple packets of sugar into his iced tea.

I exhaled with relief.

And then I got to my feet.

"I'll be in the restroom," I said quickly and escaped.

*

I walked briskly to the bathroom.

And I was considering spending the night there.

But I knew that wasn't a logical possibility, what with Eric and all.

So I focused on preparing myself to face what was waiting out there for me.

Eric.

And you.

You.

And Eric.

Eric who brought me there because of how wonderful he thought I was.

And you who showed up there to prove that I wasn't wonderful at all.

It was…sort of balanced in a twisted way, I guess.

But would you prove your point to Eric?

Would you want to get back at me for what had happened when you showed up at my door?

For rejecting you?

Would you have the nerve to approach him, and tell him what had went on in his own home?

These possibilities were too much for me.

I turned on my heel and rushed back through the doors with every intention of sprinting back to the table.

If you were going to tell Eric these things, then I had to at least be there to defend myself.

Even if there wasn't much I could honestly defend myself from…

But then you were there.

You were leaning against the wall right outside of the women's bathroom.

You were waiting.

And I realized, as your expression transformed, that I was who you were waiting for.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

"Hello, Bella," you greeted softly.

And your timid smile was lopsided.

"Hi," was all I could say.

And then there was silence.

And then you said, "How are you doing?"

And the awful last few days resurfaced.

And I didn't want to tell you about that.

So I didn't.

I crossed my arms and asked, "What are you doing here?" instead.

You straightened up, "Eating with a friend of the family."

"The big guy?"

"Emmett. Yes. And you're here with your husband?"

"Yes. Eric."

And then there was more silence.

You broke it.

"Bella," you said, "I owe you an apology."

I stared at you.

"I never should have gone to your house that night. I assumed too much too fast and pushed you into doing something you didn't want to do."

The floor occasionally caught your eye, but you seemed determined to look at me as you finished, "I'm so sorry."

Your mother's formality seemed to be contagious.

But the important thing was what was said, not how.

And the words shocked me.

An apology was the last thing I expected from you.

For multiple reasons.

"That was pretty impressive for a 17 year old," I told you.

Now you were shocked.

"How…How did…My mom?" you pieced together, jostled.

I nodded, "Happy belated birthday."

"Thanks," you mumbled.

You didn't sound very thankful.

I sighed and raised a hand to my head.

"Why didn't you tell me? Or forget telling me, why did you come at all? Did you want to get me in trouble? Sue me? Was that what you wanted? Money?"

"No, that wasn't it at all! I don't want any of your money," you sounded insulted, even mad.

But I was getting steamed myself and I didn't care.

"That's right. You don't need it, do you? So what was it then? Just blind hormones? Were you _that _horny?"

Someone cleared their throat.

And it wasn't you.

We both turned to see one of the restaurant staff looking at us with heated, heavily disapproving eyes.

"Would it be possible for the two of you to finish this conversation outside?" the man requested icily.

How long had he been listening?

How long had we been talking?

How long had Eric been waiting?

I had two words to answer all three of those questions:

Too. Long.

"That won't be necessary. This conversation is over."

Your face at that moment was priceless.

"No, Bella…" you said.

And your pleading voice made my heart fly.

"We have a meal to get back to," I explained, knowing you would understand.

You did.

"Oh, right."

We turned and left the pissed staff member where he stood.

"You have my work number," I whispered as we walked, "Call me there anytime during business hours, Monday thru Friday. Just tell whoever answers who you are and they'll let you talk to me."

I knew I shouldn't have said that.

It was only making my problem worse, just adding to it.

But I thought of the face you'd made just now, when you thought I didn't want to talk to you anymore, and I couldn't _not _say it.

You grinned.

"I will. Definitely."

And before we could get in either of our table's line of sight, we parted ways.

I sat back down across from Eric.

"What did you _do _in there?" was the first thing he said.

Yes, I had taken too long.

"Sorry," I answered.

An overwhelming wave of guilt swallowed me when it leaked into my awareness that I had just, debatably, made arrangements to cheat on him.

"I ordered for you. You said you wanted the steak, right? It's probably cold now, though."

Actually, I had wanted the chicken.

But I wasn't going tell him that.

I had already been rude enough.

"That's alright. I'll live."

"Seriously, Bella, what took you so long?"

Ugh.

"I…ran into a friend."

"Anyone I know?"

"No."

_But he's sitting two tables to the left of us._

**A/N: So a few of you have been asking about Edward's POV. I replied to one of you, but then I decided just to put something about in it in a note for all of you who have been wondering. And the answer is: I don't know. I think that because Bella seems to be 'saying' all of this to him, it would be odd to switch to his perspective. But that doesn't mean his POV is an impossibility. Keep in mind; we're in the past right now. As time goes on, maybe the opportunity will present itself. But until then I think it's better to stay out of his head. **


	10. Chapter 10

We returned home sometime later.

Eric didn't hesitate to retreat to his office.

That didn't surprise me.

He had filled his husbandly quota for the day.

Or maybe the week.

Or longer.

It really depended on how in-demand he was.

If his job needed the obsessive workaholic Eric, or if Mike and Tyler needed the overly friendly Eric, well the adoring Eric I needed would just have to wait.

And that was the way it was.

And that had never bothered me before.

But it did that night.

And when I reminded him to set his alarm before he started working, it came out with a surprisingly bitter edge.

A bitter edge he unsurprisingly didn't notice.

I went to bed early again.

And this time I didn't sleep at all.

*

I went in to work the next day exhausted, but somehow oddly wired.

Maybe it had something to do with the call I was expecting.

The call.

Your call.

Actually I'm sure it had everything to do with it.

Esme seemed to have the same notion.

"Are you expecting a call from the Masons today, Bella?"

If only she knew…

"Mm hmm," I smiled as I began to stir some batter.

She returned the expression, "I thought so. How are things coming along?"

"Good. Things are…good."

"Just good? It seems like she really likes you."

"I think she does."

"Let's hope it stays that way."

My movements slowed.

I glanced up at her nervously.

_Did _she know?

Her brow furrowed, not understanding my reaction.

"There are two weeks until the event. I'd hate to see things go down hill before then," she explained.

My stirring returned to a more natural rhythm.

"And that son of hers," she continued, "Handsome boy, isn't he? I think he likes you too."

That was when I stopped stirring altogether.

But, thankfully, it was just another overreaction.

"That's important since the party is his."

"Yeah," I said and poured the mixture on to a baking sheet.

It covered up my stop nicely.

And then, just as I was going to put it in the oven, the phone rang.

Esme's face brightened as she moved swiftly to take the sheet from me.

"I've got it, you just answer the phone," she told me.

I had no problem following those instructions.

"Edible Art," I recited cheerfully into the receiver.

I held my breath while I waited to see who would answer.

And my oxygen deprivation was not in vain.

"Isabella Yorkie?" your voice responded.

"Mr. Mason. To what do I owe the pleasure?" I said lightly.

"Oh, I just thought we could discus some themes," you mirrored my lightness.

"That's a good idea seeing as you weren't there yesterday. Are you feeling better?"

"Hardly."

I saw an opportunity and took it.

"If you wanted to talk to me anyway, then why didn't you just come? And don't tell me you were really sick because, if you were, you wouldn't have gone to the restaurant."

"That's true," you said slowly, "I wasn't sick."

I waited for you to say more.

You didn't.

"What were you, then?" I prompted.

"I was afraid."

And I could tell by the way you said this that you did not like admitting it.

"Afraid of what?"

"You. I wanted to talk to you, but after what happened last time, I didn't think you would want to listen."

"Oh."

I hadn't thought of that.

"But when I saw you at the restaurant, I had to take the chance. And I'm glad I did."

I was glad you did too.

And even gladder that you were glad.

…If that makes sense…

I cleared my throat, "You never did answer my question. Why did you go to my house? You had to have known what you were doing."

Even if _I _didn't know what _I _was doing.

You took a deep breath.

And I knew whatever you said with it would be monumental to me.

But all that came of it was:

"Because I _like _you."

An extremely simple explanation for a very complicated problem.

"You say that like it solves everything," I noted.

"Does it?"

"No," I decided, "No, it doesn't change the fact that this is wrong."

People are all different.

And they can all teach you different things.

"Sometimes the best things are," you said.

That is what you taught me.


	11. Chapter 11

Through all the years of my life, even the teenage ones, I had never been one for talking on the phone. I never understood how other people did it. Walked around with receivers fused to their ears until their phones died or they went deaf. Whatever came first.

Sure, the phone was fine for awhile. Until that piece of cartilage on the side of your head turned beat red and smoldered and ached.

And what do the chronic phone-talkers do when their poor abused ear starts to scream at them?

Say goodbye?

Maybe end their marathon conversations?

Hell no.

They switch to the _other _ear.

And they start the process all over again.

Totally ridiculous.

I wasn't ridiculous.

Before I met you, I wasn't ridiculous.

Before I met you, I used the phone only as long and often as necessary.

Before I met you, a ten minute conversation over electric lines was a long one.

But then I met you.

And gave you my work number.

And learned the art of ridiculousness very quickly.

A pair of throbbing ears was a small price to pay for what I got in return:

_Knowing _you.

How much you can absorb just from listening to someone talk for a few hours continues to amaze me.

When you have no face to go by, when you are just listening, that's when you really pick up on things.

No, not the things they flat out give you.

Not the information that gets tossed back and forth like a ratty baseball.

Half of that will be forgotten the moment it's said.

But the intricate lifts and drops that keep you wondering if the person on the other end is smiling or not.

The contrast between laughter that is forced and laughter that is sincere.

The hesitance with which meaningful topics are handled.

The immediate flow that answers what one considers an easy, or comfortable, question.

All of that is what I remembered.

And as the days passed, and I became more and more of a chronic phone-talker, I made a discovery.

As much as I blamed you for turning me into something I had never wanted to be.

A marathon conversationalist among other things.

And yes, I still blame you.

Completely.

As much as all that bothered me, I wouldn't ever trade one second of it.

Esme thought we were working out some serious business.

And we were.

Everyday that we spoke, you persuaded me to like you a little more.

Already I knew the fire that your body sparked in mine.

The jolt of your heart pounding handshake…

The havoc of your devastating kiss…

But it was what I didn't know that led to the discovery.

We didn't exchange childhood stories.

Or sob stories.

Or any stories.

My life is my life is my life.

And you weren't even alive for most of it.

But what we did exchange showed me I liked you.

Not only because of _what _you were as a person.

But _who_ you were as a person.

Oh, who am I kidding?

You persuaded me to like you by leaps and bounds.

And it's more than possible that, in reality, you didn't need to persuade me at all.

*

"My mom wants to meet with you again," you told me one day when the shop was closing.

"She's very thorough, isn't she?" I realized.

"You could say that."

It sounded like you were smiling.

I took a second before answering to picture the expression.

"What does she want to meet about?"

"Cakes."

"Oh right…"

A birthday party would need a cake.

Of course.

"Are you too busy?"

You were picking up on things from my voice too.

"If I was busy, do you really think I would be talking to you right now?"

"Yes," you said confidently, "I do."

I let loose a sigh.

You were right.

Horrible as it was, it was the truth.

"When does she want to come?"

"Actually…" you hesitated.

"What?"

"Shewantedtoknowifyoucouldcomehere," you spit out in a rush.

I thought I understood, but I wasn't sure.

"Huh?"

You made a frustrated noise.

"It would be better for her if she didn't have to leave the house."

I'd made house calls before.

But this was more significant.

"You want me to come over?" I asked.

"Uh…yeah."

The discomfort radiating from your words made me want to laugh.

I bit down on my lip.

"Is that okay? It wouldn't be too…inconvenient for you, would it?" you worried.

"No," I assured you, "It's no problem."

Then someone tapped my shoulder.

I turned to see Jessica Newton staring at me with an impatient look on her face.

"When did you want to schedule that?" I questioned you professionally.

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow would be excellent. I'll see you then, Mr. Mason."

After being sure to tack the formality on the end for Jessica's benefit, I hung up and reluctantly turned my attention to my envious coworker.

Jessica Newton the gossiping wife of Mike Newton.

The same Mike Newton who is a 'friend' of Eric's.

"You have a lot to say to those people," she said.

I watched as her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"There's a lot to discuss," I replied casually.

"Sure there is. A birthday party is just loaded with complexities."

I ignored her.

Opting instead to remove my apron and let my hair down.

And as I walked away I hoped she wouldn't follow.

But she did.

"The son seems to have more to say to you than the mother."

"It _is _his party," I reminded her.

"Is that why your eyes light up whenever the phone rings?"

That was an accusation if I ever heard one.

A wave of nervous heat engulfed me.

I preoccupied myself with folding the stained fabric in my hands and putting it away with the others like it.

"Wouldn't yours if the Mason's were your clients?"

It would have been a good response if my voice hadn't wavered halfway through.

But it did.

Damn it.

"You might have Esme convinced business is the only reason you spend hours on the phone, but I don't think business has anything to do with it."

Before I could get past the shock and work up a good lie, she started talking again.

"Are you and your _husband_ doing anything tonight?"

The emphasis she put on the marital title didn't escape my notice.

Shock was still impairing my ability to speak.

So I shook my head.

"Mike wanted to head over to your place. Visit Eric, you know."

She walked to the door, calling a 'see you later' and a reminder to lock up over her shoulder before leaving.

Of all the people in the known universe who could have caught a whiff of what was going on between us, it had to be Jessica.

Gossiping wife of Eric's 'friend' Jessica.

Does this sort of thing happen to every middle-aged married woman infatuated with a teenager?

Or am I just special?

**A/N: Well, I hope March has treated you all better than I have. I'm sorry for the month of absence. Sometimes our lives take control of us rather than the other way around. Getting back into the swing of things, I'll try to keep updates reasonably consistent. I'm not too sure about this chapter, but I wanted to get it out there anyway. **


	12. Chapter 12

I couldn't wait to get home.

To face Eric and Mike and Jessica…

On second thought I could wait.

I could gladly wait.

So I took my good old time cleaning and re-cleaning the kitchen just for the joy of it.

And I checked and double checked the locks on my way out.

And when I finally got in the car I purposely turned the wrong way just to see where it would take me.

*

Sometime after 11 o'clock I sauntered through the front door of the house.

I held a large pepperoni pizza in my hands.

My only defense for being home so late.

The sound of the TV mixed with tipsy conversation greeted me.

"There she is!" Mike exclaimed.

He sat in the loveseat with Jessica curled up to his side.

She grinned demonically, "Hey Bella."

"Hey Jess."

"Where were you?" Eric asked from his lonely seat on the opposite couch.

He didn't sound very pleased.

I shrugged, "I got caught up."

That was a line I'd stolen right from his mouth.

And he knew it.

"But don't be too angry with me," I said, "I come bearing pizza."

I held the cardboard box out like a sacred delicacy and dramatically placed it on the coffee table as if it were an offering.

My audience laughed.

And I knew I was forgiven.

I took my seat beside Eric.

He loped an arm easily around me.

Funny how something that used to be completely natural now made me uncomfortable.

It shouldn't have.

He was my husband and it shouldn't have.

And yet it did.

It seemed like guiltiness had embodied itself into a nagging third wheel in our relationship.

But I could see Jessica out of the corner of my eye.

Watching me.

Waiting for some sign of that guilt.

Waiting for me to give in to that discomfort.

And so I couldn't.

I had to prove her wrong.

Show her I was perfectly happy with Eric.

Even if she was dead on and I was anything but happy with him.

I forced myself to snuggle in closer to him.

That seemed to satisfy her.

And she turned her attention to the pizza, plucking a slice.

The scent of alcohol reached my nose.

I glanced at the beer in Eric's other hand before scrutinizing his face.

His eyes were slightly glassy.

He smiled sheepishly at me.

"You're going to pay for that in the morning," I warned.

Shooting looks at Mike and Jessica I amended, "You all are."

"It doesn't matter," Mike said lazily, "We're all taking off the rest of the week."

I turned back to Eric stunned, "_You _took time off?"

Eric started to answer but, just like I knew he would, Mike jumped in and answered for him.

"'Course he did. We need someone to outsmart the cops."

He laughed and the other two joined in.

I didn't.

"Where exactly are you going?"

I was leery.

And, even though I was clearly speaking to Eric, Mike jumped in again.

"Camping at Goat Rocks."

"Yeah," Jessica piped up, "You should come with us."

She started at me, expectant.

I wanted to hit her.

"I can't," I said flatly.

"Oh, that's right," she pretended to suddenly remember, "You're meeting with the Mason's again, aren't you?"

"The Mason's," Mike muttered shaking his head, "Filthy rich assholes."

"Or are they?" Jess feigned curiosity, making sure she had control of the conversation.

I thought of your mother.

One of the nicest people I'd ever known.

"Not even close."

Jessica shrugged, "You would know, I guess. You spend hours on the phone with them everyday."

Did I mention how much I hate Jessica?

If not I'll just tell you now:

A lot.

"Hours?" Eric questioned.

"They're very particular."

"I'll say," Devil Woman smiled, "Especially the boy…What's his name?"

She just had to make me say it.

"Edward."

"How particular is he?"

I felt like I was a defendant being interrogated by a prosecutor and Mike and Eric were the jury.

I didn't have a lawyer to object for me.

But I did have a cell phone in my pocket.

And, praise God, it chose that moment to ring.

Jessica, though, had to get one last jab in.

"You better get that," she advised, "It might be Edward."

I checked the number with the beat of a drum in my chest.

_Was _it you?

No.

Just my mom.

And I should have been glad that was the case.

If it had been you it certainly wouldn't have helped me.

But I was disappointed anyway.

I rolled my eyes, "It's Renee."

"Hi Mom," I said into the phone.

And made my escape.

*

I already spent hours on the phone with you, so why not Renee? She just wanted to catch up, it was nothing vital, but the longer I could keep her talking the longer I could avoid Jessica's questions.

And that was definitely worth a pair of throbbing ears.

So I let her tell me about everything under the sun of Florida.

And I "hummed" and "hmmed" and "uh huhed" until I saw Mike and Jessica getting their coats.

Finally.

But I still wasn't taking any chances.

I made sure they were out the door before I hung up.

And then I went to clean up the pizza.

I found Eric in the kitchen.

"What time are you leaving tomorrow?" I asked as I put the leftovers in the fridge.

"Around seven or so. We won't be back until Sunday. Do you think you could drive up for the weekend?"

Wow.

He wanted me there.

How flattering.

"The party's this weekend. I have to be there."

I only fully realized this fact as I said it.

The party, your party, was this weekend.

The whole reason our lives had become entangled in the first place was this weekend.

And after this weekend that entanglement would be over.

And then what?

I didn't know.

And that terrified me.

"Even if I could come, I wouldn't. Goat Rocks is awful for camping," I said to distract myself.

"That's what I said," Eric agreed, "But Mike thinks the bears will make it interesting."

The mental picture of Mike being eaten by a bear made me smile.

I began to imagine Jessica in a similar situation, but thought a bear would be too good for her.

No, Jessica deserved something much, much worse.

I hoped the world's most dangerous predator would find her and slowly suck the life from her putrid corpse.

"I should make sure everything's squared away before I start packing," Eric said partly to himself and started to head for his office.

But I wasn't having any of that.

"You take time off when Mike wants you to."

He stopped mid-step.

"How many times have I asked you to take time off for me? How many vacations have I tried to get you to go on?"

Eric sighed, turning around as he did.

"We never went on any of them. But when Mike, the king of all that is holy, decides to grace you with an invite to his precious camping trip from above, you sure do clear your schedule fast, don't you?"

"It's not like that, Bella. It just happened to be good timing. That's all," he responded gently.

I didn't say anything for a moment.

And he tried to walk away again.

"That's right," I said, "Go back to that damn computer. It's more important to you than I am."

He whirled around, "What's with you?" he demanded.

"I'm tired of always coming in last to your job and your friends. It would be nice to be a priority sometime."

An eye roll, "You're not last."

"Really? I'm not? You would drop a dinner with Mike and Tyler to eat with me, then? You would go out and celebrate with me on the weekend instead of working overtime?"

The eye rolling ceased.

I'd been needing to get this off my chest for awhile now. It was amazing how wonderful it felt to say it. There was more between us than guilt.

Suddenly he was on the defensive, "Well you're one to talk. You just told me you couldn't go camping because you had to work."

"Maybe I wanted you to see how it felt."

He threw his hands up.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked.

And at that moment, I knew exactly what I wanted.

Because I knew that I was very close to crossing another line I shouldn't cross.

Yes, I was entangled with you.

But that entanglement could still be undone without much harm.

We could go our separate ways after that party.

And you would remain a dream in my subconscious, more fantasy than reality.

Something I would look back on for the rest of my days with a bittersweet mix of memory and regret.

And I would be able to live with that.

What I wanted was for Eric to pull me back from the edge.

To keep me from plunging past the point of no return.

A point I knew I was going to cross before he came back from Goat Rocks.

"Say something," I said.

_Please._

_Please say something._

_Please stop me before it's too late._

He could have apologized for putting me last.

Took me in his arms and promised never to do it again.

Told me he wasn't going to go camping.

Or just said he loved me.

But he said, "I don't know what to say."

And I knew he wasn't going to pull me back.

He was going to let me jump.

Let me jump headfirst.

Headfirst into you.


	13. Chapter 13

The following morning Eric left as promised.

We didn't say goodbye.

I think that was a mutual choice.

But I was too preoccupied with what was going to happen after he left to be sure.

I called Esme to let her know I was going to be doing my job from your house.

She praised me for catering to the customer, "Not all of my employees would make a house call," she said.

"They would if making a house call meant a trip to a mansion," I told her.

She admitted I was right.

*

In no time at all I was pulling into your driveway.

I hadn't needed directions.

Mansions ran pretty scarce around here.

I admired the outside while I drew the courage to knock.

My fist collided forcefully with the polished wood four times.

And then I waited.

Your mother let me in.

And when she greeted me with a smile, I realized it was one I'd missed.

"Bella," she beamed, "It's so wonderful to see you."

She moved to the side and gestured for me to come in.

I did.

"Thank you for coming out here on such short notice. I would never have asked that of you if it wasn't absolutely necessary. But, unfortunately, leaving the house isn't an option for me right now."

I knew it wasn't any of my business.

Unprofessional to ask.

But curiosity got the best of me.

"Why not?"

"We're having some work done on our basement. The renovators require the owner of the home to be present at all times, and if we want the job complete by this weekend, well…" your mother trailed off.

Her attention was abruptly drawn to the container of cake samples I held in my hands.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "Here I am going on and on, and you need to set up."

We made it to the kitchen with her leading the way.

And she told me about the house while I organized my equipment on your pristine counters.

Just as I was finishing up, a man wearing a construction helmet entered the room.

"Ma'am?" he requested timidly, "The boss needs ya downstairs."

"Oh!" your mother exclaimed again.

She seemed flustered.

I guessed it was stress.

She began to follow the man, but turned back to me at the last second.

"Go get Edward," she instructed, "He's in his room upstairs. It shouldn't be hard for you to find; he's always got some type of music pouring out of there. Tell him to pick out whatever cake he likes. And leave the decorating up to him, too."

And, with that, your mother vanished.

*

I inched my way up the steps trying not to think of where I was going.

I tried.

But I did not succeed.

Your room, your mother had said.

I was searching for your room.

Your _bed_room.

Alone.

I could feel a heart attack coming on.

Could things get any worse?

Then again, could they get any better?

I reached the top of the staircase.

And almost fell back down it.

After seeing the downstairs, you would think I would have been better prepared for the expanse of rooms and hallways leading to hallways that waited for me.

You would think.

But you would be wrong.

I was overwhelmed.

I almost said, "To hell with it," and gave up.

Almost.

But then I remembered what your mother told me about music.

And, instead of giving up just because it would be complicated, I closed my eyes.

And ignored everything else.

And listened.

And, soft as a feather, the ghost of a melody reached my ears.

A melody I let guide me right to the end of the second hallway.

Right to a door.

A door.

Your door.

Your door which I opened.

And found you lying on your back with your eyes closed.

And your arms resting behind your head.

Totally at ease.

Completely oblivious to my entrance.

Lost in the notes that floated around us.

It was the most relaxed I'd ever seen you.

Just the day before, I had mocked Eric for treating Mike like he was God's gift.

And now I stood.

Absolutely captivated.

Wondering when heaven would decide to take you back.

I was such a hypocrite.

Licking my lips, I prepared to say something.

The last thing I wanted was to shatter your peace.

But I couldn't just stand there watching you.

What if you caught me?

Your mouth opened.

And I froze, thinking you already had.

But your eyes remained shut.

And what came out of you wasn't an accusation.

It was music.

Singing.

You were singing to the melody.

And whatever it was I was going to say flew out the window.

I wasn't just captivated.

I was entranced.

Voices don't correspond to appearances.

A swimsuit model could be totally tone deaf.

A shaggy bum could make his own personal orchestra.

But this was different.

And as the tranquility of the final note faded away I heard myself whisper, "Your voice suits you."

And if I was still standing in the doorway like I had been, you might not have heard me.

But I wasn't.

Sometime during the song I had unconsciously moved toward you.

And now I stood right beside the bed.

Right beside you.

Where you would have no problem hearing.

You gasped, your eyes flying open as you bolted upright.

"Sorry," I apologized.

"Bella?" you blinked, "How long have you been here?"

"Just long enough to hear the song. I like it."

You shrugged as you recovered, "It's peaceful."

I watched you pick up a remote I hadn't noticed beside you and turn off the song I hadn't realized had started playing.

You resituated yourself so your feet were on the floor and your body only occupied the edge of the mattress.

"Where's my mom?" you asked.

You patted the space beside you.

I accepted the invitation before answering, "In the basement with the construction workers. She seemed a little excited."

"And she'll get more excited as the days wear on," you sighed.

I smiled.

"Maybe you should introduce her to that peaceful music."

"I've tried, but she says she's too stressed to listen."

The irony of that made me laugh.

You grinned.

I started to return the expression, but self consciousness stopped me.

All I could think of was the years it would expose.

The lines.

The creases.

The damage of age.

The damage that had yet to so much as touch you.

In the youthfulness of this room I would look older than ever.

Then would you finally see me for what I was?

Finally realize how ridiculous you were being, spending hours talking to a woman past her prime when yours was just beginning?

I dropped my head.

Staring down at my nondescript clothes and modest apron.

Somehow you seemed to understand.

Your hand cupped my cheek.

Stroking the imperfect skin there with your thumb.

"You're beautiful," you said.

It was the first time you'd touched me since that first night at my house.

And if anything my reaction to you had intensified.

"I might have been 20 years ago," I replied.

"No," you persisted, "You're beautiful _now_."

And I looked back at you again.

Jostled by the sincere emotion in your gaze.

I was overwhelmed.

I almost said, "To hell with it," and left.

Almost.

But then I remembered what you told me on the phone about the best things in life.

And, instead of giving up just because it would be complicated, I closed my eyes.

And ignored everything else.

And kissed you.

And the best things in life?

They are most definitely wrong.

**A/N: Wow. I can't believe I've managed three chapters in three days! I've been spending my every spare moment on the computer. Anyway, I just wanted to thank the reviewers. I've been too busy writing to reply, but your feedback has been amazing and I look foward to reading everything you have to say.**


	14. Chapter 14

One second.

It took one second for my entire view of the world to turn upside down and back sideways.

And one second was all I had.

Because in the next second you pulled away.

Pulled away and stared at me with a face that had been struck by lightning.

My ignorance of everything else dropped to the floor.

And the horror of what I'd just done took its place.

The facts hit me.

Cold.

Fast.

And hard.

I was disgusted with myself again.

More now than ever.

"I shouldn't have done that," I said because it was all I could say.

You were silent.

I sighed as humiliation set in.

"There's some cake for you to try in the kitchen."

Such a simple message to deliver.

Why couldn't I give it to you simply?

I got off the bed.

And tried to keep myself steady as I walked away.

But it was a futile effort.

Your hand curled around my arm.

Pulling me from my feet.

Pulling me back down.

Pulling me to you.

And then we were kissing again.

Your lips were slow at first.

Testing, I'd imagine.

Waiting to see if I was going to stop you.

But the attraction between us was undeniable.

A crazy, chemical rush that consumed me.

And stopping you was the last thing I wanted to do.

So I didn't stop you.

I kissed you deeper.

And held you tighter.

And pressed against you harder.

And you reciprocated.

You reciprocated entirely.

To describe what was coursing through my veins at that moment as heat would be just plain wrong.

It was more than the wildfire I'd felt before.

More than anything I'd felt before.

My heart wasn't like a drum.

It was thunder in my chest.

And I wasn't breathing.

I was panting.

Everything in my body was in overdrive.

Working so hard I thought to keep going would kill me.

And yet it still wasn't enough for me.

Now that I knew what was beyond the wildfire, I wanted to see what was beyond the storm.

I slid my hands down your neck and pushed against your shoulders.

You pulled back a few inches.

Confusion lined your face.

And I realized you thought I'd decided to stop you after all.

You thought wrong.

I grinned and pushed again.

Using my body to force you back.

Then it clicked.

And you let yourself fall on to the mattress.

Me falling with and landing on top of you.

We stared at each other for a moment, gasping.

You brushed the pieces of hair that had fallen into my eyes away.

"No tears?" you asked softly.

And I could see your fear.

Your fear that I'd breakdown like before.

I searched myself for the crippling emotions.

The ones that would overpower and tear me apart for what we did.

What we were still doing.

But came up empty.

And when I said, "Not this time," I knew I was telling the truth.

You glued our mouths together again.

Your hands flirting uncertainly around the small of my back.

My hands were not uncertain on yours.

Yanking at the bottom of your shirt.

Yearning to feel the skin that the fabric so cruelly concealed.

But then a sound halted our every movement.

A knock accompanied by a terrifyingly sweet voice.

"Edward?" your mother called from the other side of the door.

I held my breath.

"Yeah?" you responded.

We flinched at the breathy sound.

"Is…Is Bella in there with you?"

"No. Why? Is she here?"

Still breathless, but damn you were a good actor.

If I wasn't the one you were lying about, I would've believed you.

Your mother made a concerned sound, "Yes, she is. I sent her up to find you…She must have gotten lost. Of course the one time your noise would have been helpful, you decide not to listen to it. What are you doing in there?"

My already tense muscles strained at the question.

But you didn't answer it.

"It's not noise," you argued instead.

"Most of it is. Now come out and help me find that poor girl. Heaven knows where she's gone off to."

"I will."

It wasn't until I couldn't hear her footsteps anymore that I moved.

Relaxing my stiff limbs and collapsing.

"That was close," I said into your chest.

"Very."

Once I calmed down, I had to make myself separate from you.

My body didn't like not being in contact with yours.

It still doesn't.

Finally, I stood.

"Should I get lost?"

You smiled, "There's a bathroom right outside. If anyone asks, I found you there."

I went along with it.

Your mother seemed to buy it.

And, as far as Liz was concerned, dessert was all we shared that day.


	15. Chapter 15

Do you remember when I told you that sometimes I sang in the shower?

Well, that night was one of those times.

I belted out my own personal concert until the water ran cold.

Then I plopped into bed.

And, without even glancing at the emptiness beside me, I fell asleep.

*

It was not a peaceful or dreamless sleep.

It was full of images.

And I will never forget it.

My 17-year-old self walked with you.

Walked and talked and laughed with you.

And she held your hand.

And stole your kisses.

And she was me.

But I was not her.

No, I was watching from somewhere else.

Somewhere years away.

Too old to join.

Too young to accept that.

And I thought I was alone.

But then Eric was there.

Not out of reach.

Not like you and 17-year-old me.

He was right beside me.

And he smiled.

And leaned in to kiss my shoulder.

Just like he had so many times before.

But then his lips touched my skin.

And the exact moment they did, the 17-year-old me turned around.

And the light caught her face.

And she was not me at all.

She was someone else.

A girl who really was 17.

Who didn't work for your mother.

Who wasn't married.

And could talk and touch and kiss with you wherever, whenever, she wanted.

No, she wasn't me.

She was everything I wanted to and never could be.

She was what was right for you.

What you deserved.

My dream and my nightmare rolled into one.

My dream:

That I could be her.

My nightmare:

That you would find her.

I fought to follow when the two of you journeyed out of my sight.

But I was still held back by my years.

And so I couldn't.

I looked to Eric.

"Help me!" I cried.

He shook his head.

"It's better this way," he told me.

*

That was when I woke up.

Sweating.

And shaking with the tears I wasn't going to cry that night trickling down my face.

**A/N: Short, but I kind of like it this way. It puts more emphasis on the the dream sequence. I should be able to update again tomorrow. **


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I don't have time to reread this, so I apologize for any typing errors or awkward wordings beforehand.**

"Did they decide on a cake yesterday, Bella?" Esme asked as she came into work the following morning.

"Yeah," I said absently.

I was too busy to put anymore effort into my answer.

Jessica got to go camping.

And I got everything she left behind.

Ah, the fairness of life.

I bustled about the kitchen.

Chopping and grinding.

Pouring and mixing.

Cooking and cooling.

It wasn't until at least ten minutes later that I noticed Esme hadn't left.

She sat in one of the only two chairs in the room.

Head in her hands.

Vacancy in her eyes.

And I really had enough problems of my own to deal with.

But that didn't stop me from listening to hers.

She'd been at the hospital.

And the news they'd given her was not the news she'd hoped for.

"I can't lose him," she declared brokenly, "I can't."

Esme had been married to Carlisle for much longer than I had been married to Eric.

And her dedication had never wavered.

Even over the past month.

When things had gotten so difficult any other person would have given in.

She never faltered.

I had to wonder what I would do in her situation.

Would I be that strong for Eric?

How deep was my dedication to him?

Obviously not very deep.

But why?

What was the difference?

What did Esme and Carlisle have that Eric and I didn't?

Or was it just them versus us personally?

And, if it was, what did that say about me?

Ugh.

I concentrated more fully on slicing lemons.

There was nothing to wonder about lemons.

Nothing left in the hazy areas.

Lemons were simple.

Even when everything else was not.

Maybe if I centered my life around lemons, my life would become simple too.

The timer on the oven went off.

And I dropped the knife I had been holding.

But then Esme was out of her chair.

"Keep going," she said.

And waved me off.

And I told myself something.

I told myself that if Esme could keep going, so could I.

Complications be damned.

*

The workday was coming to a close.

And you hadn't called.

I had been wishing for simplicity.

And contact with you certainly wouldn't help me reach it.

But, of course, I still wanted to talk to you.

Especially after what happened in your room.

Especially after my dream.

Especially after my nightmare.

But you can't always get what you want.

And, with only 15 minutes until closing, I knew I would have to go home unsatisfied.

I handed off the last order for the day.

The door closed behind the customers.

And I forfeited the last of my hope with a sigh.

Suddenly, Esme was there.

"You need a vacation," was the first thing she said since our earlier conversation.

"I'm fine."

And I needed work.

It was the only thing that made sense.

Even if it did get me involved with you…

"Why didn't you go on that camping trip with Jessica? I would have found someone to take over the Mason party for you."

"I don't like camping, and I wasn't going to leave you two short."

"And you didn't want someone else to take over the Mason's?"

Before I could stop them, my eyes darted to her face in shock.

"It's alright. They're a very influential family. I said you were the best I had, and I meant it. No one deserves this opportunity more than you. You're smart to hang on to it," she reassured me.

"But," she added, "Once it's over and Jessica is back at work, a vacation would be good for you."

I came up with another excuse, "Eric's camping now. He wouldn't be able to take more time off to go with me."

She shrugged, "So go with a friend."

I hated the way my mind jumped immediately to you.

Hated it.

But that didn't stop it from happening.

And I almost laughed.

Because a vacation with you was more impossible than a pig with wings.

*

I let the drive home be a slow one.

There was nothing to push me.

Nothing that needed to be done.

Nothing that waited for me.

With the exception of the sexy ass silver car I found sitting in my driveway.

A car that, up until that point, I had never seen in all my 36 years.

I pulled in wearily.

And a feeling of unease tightened my stomach as I yanked the keys from the ignition.

I was, after all, alone.

And everyone has their paranoid moments.

Mine dissipated when I saw you through the glass.

Saw you seeing me.

And surprise filled the space the unease left.

And yes, I'll admit it, I was a little happy to see you.

Okay, more than a little.

More like a lot…

Maybe 'ecstatic' is a better word.

But, regardless, I had a smile on my face by the time I was standing next to your window.

You rolled it down without me having to ask.

"How was work?"

Your voice was laced with humor.

As if the question was a joke.

But it was probably the circumstances, not the words, which made it funny.

I was glad you were in my driveway.

Still, you momentarily scared the shit out of me.

And I wasn't about to give you a round of applause for poor tactics.

"Busy, but you could have called," I said.

"I would have, but I forgot to put my phone in my backpack before school."

There was an explanation I hadn't heard for awhile.

I rolled my eyes.

"What?"

"School…" I muttered.

"It must seem like a long time ago to you," you said.

"It _was _a long time ago."

And then something, or someone, occurred to me.

"Where does Liz think you are?"

"I told her I was going to eat with a friend when classes let out. And I was telling the truth."

You gazed more intently at me, "Or was I?"

"Is that your way of asking me out to dinner?"

You smiled.

My heart lurched.

My legs wobbled beneath me.

And I said, "Give me five minutes."

And went into the house.

*

In less than four of the five minutes I requested, I was buckled in beside you.

"Is this your car?" I wondered while we were backing out.

You answered that it was with obvious pride.

And I couldn't blame you.

I didn't think there was a teenager on the planet who wouldn't feel the same way.

Actually, a member of any age group would probably agree.

You were quiet.

But I had more to ask.

"How do you know where I live?"

That was something I'd been trying to figure out since the day I met you.

But I could never say it over the phone.

I don't know why.

It was just something that needed to be resolved in person.

"My mom makes it a point to know the address of every person she hires. It's…sort of a precaution, I guess. A 'just in case' kind of thing. I got the information from her papers."

Not too disturbing.

I could have imagined much darker methods.

But you stared out the windshield through the entire explanation.

And I knew you thought it was bad.

And you were afraid of my reaction.

So I tried to ease some of that fear.

"Did you go suck face with all the construction workers too, then?"

"No," you chuckled, meeting my eye for moment, "Just one or two of them."

"Oh, okay," I smiled at my success.

I let my thoughts drift.

Thinking of the scene being played out here.

A wife who is once again taking advantage of her husband's absence. Using it as an opportunity to go out with that other man she sat in said husband's place not so long ago. Going out to dine with that man whom she'd let kiss and hold her in ways only her husband should.

The scene was no improvement over the last.

It had gotten worse.

And would only continue to get worse, I realized, unless I did something to prevent it.

Something like demanding that you take me home this instant.

And telling you that I never want to see you again.

And severing all ties with you and your mother.

Something like that.

But I saw that 17-year-old girl my subconscious created to haunt me last night.

The one you would take out to eat and kiss on your bed.

And I could not do something like that.

Not for my betterment.

Not even for yours.

*

We pulled into the parking lot after a long drive.

An almost two-hour-long drive to be exact.

That was my doing.

I didn't want to be seen with you by anyone I knew.

Or anyone you knew.

Or both.

So I finally settled on this place.

Settled because, after passing by at least 30 different perfectly good options, you were getting irritated.

And I'm sorry for being such a nuisance.

Really I am.

But with all that was wrong with what we were doing, I wasn't taking any chances.

You got out of the car.

And I copied you.

And looked around to see who was watching as I fell into step beside you.

All clear.

You offered me your hand.

I didn't take it.

It hurt to deny that physical contact with you.

And in my kitchen, or your bedroom, or any similarly private place I never would have.

But this was different.

This was public.

And you had to understand that.

"What would people think?" I whispered.

You nodded and dropped the unused limb at your side.

I hoped you did understand.

And my rejection did not hurt you.

But I couldn't see your face until we were inside.

And I did not see what I had hoped for.

"How many?" a woman's voice asked.

"Two," we said in unison.

You said it because, in your mind, I was your date.

And there was nothing wrong with that.

I said it because, in my mind, I was your date.

And no one should, could, know that.

And for you to answer would give the right impression.

Which was the wrong impression.

Because it would lead me straight to another date.

Another date in court.


	17. Chapter 17

The date that no one could know was a date did not improve from drinks to dessert.

And I know what you're thinking:

_Well, Bella, maybe it would have if you hadn't been such a nervous wreck._

And you have a point.

If I hadn't been checking and re-checking and re-re-checking what could maybe have possibly been someone thirteen tables away watching what could maybe have possibly been a gesture that could maybe have possibly been interpreted as one made from one lover to another…

Well, maybe I could have possibly had a better time.

But you try eating a casual dinner with someone when _your _ass is on the line.

Then we'll talk.

Anyway, the relief I felt at being in the car away from seeing eyes and open ears was incredible.

And when I let the air out of my lungs, I swear it felt like the first breath I'd taken all night.

"This was a bad idea," you concluded.

We had just joined the steady stream of evening traffic.

And I remember watching the way signs and headlights would shine on your face for just long enough for me to get a glimpse of your features.

Then we would pass them.

And your face would disappear.

Only to return with the next golden arches of McDonald's.

"It wasn't a _bad_ idea…"

I thought a little before continuing.

I had to choose my words with care.

Ah, yes.

Care.

Care was good.

"We just have to be careful," I replied.

"Careful," you mocked sourly.

And I wondered if my word choice was as good as I originally thought it was.

"I don't want to be careful," you told me, "I want to take you somewhere without having to drive two hundred miles away. I want to hold your hand and talk to you without caring who can see. I want-"

"It doesn't matter what you want," I cut in when I couldn't take anymore, "You can't do those things. Not with me."

I whispered the last three words as the vision of the 17-year-old girl made another appearance.

Made another appearance because you _could_ do what you wanted with her.

The pain in my voice softened yours, "It's too bad I don't want to do them with anyone else."

I'm sure you said it to comfort me.

But all it did was make me think of how much I was holding you back from.

"Yes," I agreed, "It is."

And turned my attention to the window.

*

"Thanks."

My half-hearted gratitude seemed extremely loud after over an hour of silence.

We were back in my driveway again.

And I marveled at how quickly the mood of an evening could change.

"Don't thank me," you mumbled.

And your tone took me by surprise.

You sounded….depressed.

Did you blame that change in mood on yourself?

I studied you for a moment.

Yes.

Yes, you did blame yourself.

And that shocked me.

"Don't take this out on anyone but me," I said, "I'm the whack job who's almost 37, married, and still sitting in the car with you."

"You're 37?"

I guess I'd never told you that.

"_Almost _37."

"Really?"

You sounded disbelieving.

And that hurt.

"Do I look older?" I winced.

But you said, "No, actually, you look great. I never would have known…"

And while you trailed off in what I now recognized as amazement, I relished in the compliment.

Then I turned back to say goodnight.

And I found you studying me.

Like I had been studying you minutes earlier.

But you were not searching my face for an expression.

You were not searching my face at all.

No, your aim was lower.

Because your aim centered on my chest.

And that knowledge made me feel many things.

'Flattered' should not have won out over the rest.

But it did.

I felt flattered.

Flattered that someone like you was looking at someone like me.

Looking at my body.

And noticing me as a woman.

Yes, I felt flattered.

And powerful.

And sexy.

And aroused.

I trailed a hand intentionally over my hip.

And the way your eyes followed caused my already speeding vitals to skyrocket.

But then your gaze snapped up to mine.

Filled with the embarrassment of being caught.

And you sputtered with excuses until I told you I didn't mind.

At which point you stopped talking all together.

And your throat bobbed with a gulp.

Your breathing became audible.

And I reached for you.

And you reached for me.

And our hands entwined between us.

I wanted to pull your hands toward me.

To place them on me.

And feel their touch on a much more intimate level.

Like I had begun to on your bed.

But with nothing between your flesh and mine.

And while your hands discovered me, I wanted to discover you.

Oh, how I wanted to discover you…

I can't be sure where your head was while I was thinking these things.

But I would be willing to bet it wasn't far off.

Because that was when you leaned over and caught my lips.

Caught them in a lustful frenzy in which they are still enraptured.

And then I knew how to get what I wanted.

"Come in," I rasped, breaking our connection only long enough to speak.

But then you sighed and broke away completely.

"I can't."

I scanned you for some logical reason that might be true.

And your body definitely did not support your claim.

It totally denied it.

"Why not?"

"My mom's already going to kill me," you motioned at the clock.

It was late.

And, if you came inside, it would be much later.

And your mother would get scared.

And she would call the cops.

And who knew what would happen then.

I sure as hell didn't want to.

So I cursed.

And watched you drive away.

And, when I went to bed that night, I was more aware of the emptiness beside me than ever.


	18. Chapter 18

A few unconscious hours later, I was up and preparing to face the world again.

It was during that preparation that I noticed the blinking.

The blinking number on the answering machine that meant I had a message.

So I stopped what I was doing.

And I pressed the 'play' button with dim curiosity.

And Eric's timid request leaked from the speaker.

"Bella?"

The sound hit like a blow.

The impact knocking me from my feet and propelling me to the couch.

I knew I should have expected to hear from him.

But somehow between work, and you, and work, and you, and dinner, and you, and you, it hadn't occurred to me.

So all I could do was sit.

Sit like the stunned statue I was and listen.

And, as I listened, this is what I heard:

"Bella? Are you there?"

A pause; as if waiting for an answer.

"Guess not. Well… Mike and Jessica are sitting around the fire. They're pretty busy, so, I thought I'd give you a call."

Another pause; almost long enough for the machine to shut off.

"We went hiking today. Mike lost his shoe. Jess said someone had to make up for all the bad things that were supposed to happen to you."

Laughter.

"I can see you rolling your eyes from here."

A sigh.

A change in mood.

"I wish you _were_ here. I'm sorry I put you last. I don't mean to, there's just…just too many excuses. You know I love you, though. Even if I'm God awful at showing it sometimes. For better, for worse, right?"

A breath.

"Okay. Call me when you get this. Bye."

A click.

And then I could move again.

I pulled the phone from its cradle.

Extending one finger to follow his instructions.

To accept his apology.

To tell him that I loved him too.

To make up as we had so many times in the past.

But I couldn't.

Because he deserved an apology from me.

He deserved a confession and an apology from me.

And, even if I could confess, there was no way I could apologize.

Because to apologize would mean I was making an effort to fix the problem.

And you weren't a problem I was willing to fix.

I put the phone back.

And returned to easier tasks.

*

Your house was my destination after work.

I had a cake to deliver.

A cake I had spent all day on.

A cake I was proud of.

A cake your mother loved.

"Oh, Bella," she beamed when I unveiled it for her, "It's perfect! You've outdone yourself."

"I tried to stick as closely as possible to what he wanted, but-"

"But nothing. I've never seen a cake that captured the essence of a person more exactly than that one captures Edward's. Fabulous, Bella. Absolutely fabulous."

I'd never thought of a cake capturing the 'essence' of anything, but as long as your mother was happy…

"Thank you," I said.

I started to re-cover it.

"Don't bother," your mother halted my movements, "Edward won't see. He's not in."

"He's not?"

I prayed the disappointment in my voice wasn't obvious.

"No. I sent him off with some friends. Decorations need to be put up, and I don't want him hanging around watching the process."

"Oh."

There were questions I wanted to ask.

_What friends? _

_Sent him off where?_

But I knew better.

"I have so much to do…" your mother trailed off.

And I was confused.

Didn't she mean _other people _had so much to do?

After all, that was one of the main advantages of her financial status, wasn't it?

Hiring others to do things that everyone else did themselves.

"What time are the decorators coming?" I asked for clarification.

"There aren't any," she said.

I raised an eyebrow.

She laughed sophisticatedly.

"You might call me strange, and you wouldn't be the first, but when it comes to decorating for my son, professionals just aren't good enough. Of course they're trained and artistically educated, but they don't know Edward. Not like do. If I could cook, I'd have made the cake myself, too. There have been many times I've wished I could have done just that. Fortunately, this isn't one of those times."

She finished with one of her enchanting smiles.

Or at least I thought she finished.

Then she continued, "You really nailed it. And if you were a decorator…"

An idea lit her eyes.

"Would you like to help me decorate, Bella? If the timing isn't too horrible, it would help me out tremendously."

"Um..." I hesitated.

She'd caught me off guard.

"I'd pay you, of course," she persuaded, "But this house is so large, and I'm not as young as I used to be. An extra pair of hands would do wonders."

Your mother was such a kind person.

And she cared for you so much that she would rather expend her own energy than pay someone else for a result less than true to you.

And she believed that I would not falter in that truth the way others would.

In a sense, she believed I was good enough for you.

Alright, so maybe she didn't believe that.

Maybe I was stretching the meaning of her words far beyond its limit.

But maybe I didn't care.

And I believed what I wanted to believe.

"I'll help you," I told her, "I'll help you for free."

Because my help was already costing her.

Costing her a great deal more than she was aware.


	19. Chapter 19

I decorated.

I returned home (before you did).

I ate.

I showered.

I slept.

And then my alarm went off.

And, just like that, the day of the party was today.

Not two weeks from today.

Not the day after today.

Today.

It was today.

Today I would go to your house.

And I would serve you and your guests.

And I would pretend I was not attracted to you.

Did not converse for hours on the phone with you.

Did not dine at a far off restaurant with you.

Did not kiss in your room or in your car with you.

And did not even dream of inviting you inside to share my already shared bed.

Did not.

Do not.

Will not.

That is what I told myself over and over.

And while I was repeating my mantra, I scanned my wardrobe for something suitable to wear.

A task I probably should have completed the night before.

But didn't even think about.

Figures.

Shopping was not an activity I particularly enjoyed.

Yes, you can be a female and say those words without the world coming to an end.

However impossible that might seem.

But, because of that fact, my wardrobe was seriously lacking.

Especially in the way of formal wear.

And, of course, formal wear was exactly what I needed.

I let out a frustrated growl as I flipped roughly through the clothes hanging in the closet.

Wishing that somehow when I reached the end of the row the perfect thing would materialize out of thin air.

A piece of clothing made precisely for someone like me.

Something that said I was sensible, professionally gorgeous, and definitely not on the verge of sleeping with the son of my employer.

And bibbidi-bobbidi-boo my fairy godmother appeared before me, shook her wand a couple of times, and granted my wish.

She was also kind enough to turn my biological clock back about 20 years and give me eternal youth.

True story.

But then she said, "Better luck next time."

And disappeared.

And took everything she'd just given me with her.

One thing Disney doesn't tell you?

Fairies are cruel creatures that like to make you suffer.

Why else do you think Cinderella only got till midnight?

Anyway, once my dreams were shattered, I stared at my three remaining options.

And I saw the dreary gray dress I'd worn two years before when Eric's uncle had suddenly died of a heart attack.

Not too promising.

I kept looking.

The next option was the royal blue bridesmaid dress I'd worn to Mike and Jessica's wedding.

It was strapless.

And much too elegant for working.

So I continued on to my final hope.

A pair of black dress pants decorated with a burgundy pinstripe.

And the satin top I'd paired with them.

I couldn't remember when I'd last worn the ensemble.

And maybe that was a good thing.

In any event, they were all I had.

So I grabbed them.

I pulled them over me.

I twisted my hair on to my head.

I found a pair of nondescript shoes.

And struggled with the urge to take a peek in the mirror.

Because I knew if I saw myself, all I would see were flaws.

And I would never be able to go face a bunch of flawless, high-class teens after that.

For once I won the fight against what I should and wanted to do.

And threw my apron over my shoulder.

I had one foot out the door when I heard it.

The phone ringing.

And instinctively I knew, _knew _it was Eric.

Knew he was calling to see why I hadn't.

Maybe to leave another message.

Apologize again.

Catch me before I left for work.

Make an attempt at some heartfelt phrases for me to take along with me.

For me to ooze guilt over later.

I took the final step out.

And locked the door behind me.

It's too bad I was already gone.

*

I pulled up thankful to find your property only slightly more populated than usual.

Workers bustled in and out of the house.

Dressed in clothes that, luckily, were not so different from my own.

The front door was wide open.

So I didn't bother with knocking and went straight inside.

This time your mother was not there to greet me.

I rocked on my heels uncertain of what was expected of me.

"Can I help you with anything?" a high, soprano voice sounded from close beside me.

I started.

And turned to see a petite stranger whose dark, spiky hair barely cleared my shoulder.

She laughed at me.

"Sorry!"

"It's fine," I said, "I'm just a little anxious. There's so much going on I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing."

"You work for Liz?"

Her eyes ran over me, inspecting.

"I don't remember seeing you before."

The way she said that gave me the impression that she was familiar with everyone else on staff.

And I wracked my brain for some memory of her.

Surely I must have seen her doing something somewhere during my trips to your house.

But my search came up empty.

"You wouldn't. She just hired me not too long ago for this" I gestured at the commotion around us.

"Oh," she said, "What-"

"Alice!" your voice called.

We both turned toward the stairs to watch you rush down to us.

"What is it?" the girl I was talking to asked.

You groaned in frustration, "I can't find my…"

You trailed off as our eyes met.

"Bella," you said.

And then you smiled.

"Edward," I responded.

And returned it.

The girl you named Alice interrupted us before our exchange could grow too friendly to be purely friendly.

"Do you know her?" she asked.

Our eyes broke away from each other.

You shrugged casually, "Yeah. Bella's a cook."

"Ah," Alice said looking to me, "So you're in charge of the food department?"

I nodded.

"Well, that explains the big smile on your face," she spoke to you again.

And then to me, "I hope you came prepared. His stomach is a bottomless pit."

You glared and reached for her.

She danced out of your grasp.

Laughed again.

And an odd feeling settled in the pit of my stomach.

*

That feeling only grew worse as the day wore on.

I found my place eventually.

Thanks to you and Alice.

But it was not a place I liked.

I had to stand around making up plates.

Arranging silverware.

And a whole other list of uninteresting tasks.

And all the while I had to watch.

Watch as young people paraded through the door.

Watch as they crowded around you.

Watch as every female in that crowd smiled, and giggled, and flirted with you.

And watching was all I could do.

Then it came time to eat.

So I did my job.

And I kept a smile on for each person that I assisted.

None of them seemed to notice.

With only a handful of exceptions.

You were part of that handful.

Afterwards music was played.

And dancing was danced.

And I couldn't believe how thick the mass of teens in front of me was.

I couldn't watch you then.

Because you were lost somewhere within it.

Lost to me.

Just as you should have been.

My age crashed down around me once more.

And it became too painful to watch at all.

I rested my arms on one of the clothed tables around me.

And stared down at them until you said, "Hey."

And I looked up in surprise.

Glancing questioningly at your admiring company.

"I escaped," you explained before I could ask, "They won't realize it for awhile."

"Are you sure?"

I was nervous.

This was public.

Maybe even more so than the restaurant.

"Positive. Honestly, I don't even know half of them."

You took my hand.

Pulled.

"Come with me," you said.

"I can't."

"Yes, you can."

I shook my head, "I'm working."

"So take a break," you suggested.

"What if someone notices-"

"What if the world ends tomorrow?" you asked, "What if we both die? What if there's a flood or someone catches on fire? What if my mom just happens to pick up the phone and-"

"Okay, okay, I get it," I rolled my eyes.

"And you'll come with me?"

"You really don't think your friends will realize your not there?"

"I really don't. Even if some of them do, they'd never come to the conclusion that I'm with you."

What you said made sense.

But I was still hesitant.

"In honor of my birthday?" you tried with a smirk.

"Your birthday was in June."

"Please, Bella."

I sighed, "I'll come with you, but what about the cake?"

"We'll be back in plenty of time," you promised.

And I let you lead me away.

"Where are you taking me?" I wondered a minute later.

You grinned, "You'll see."


	20. Chapter 20

We wound through the obstacles your mother and I had placed in the yard nearly 24 hours before.

Well, you wound.

I stumbled around them until my foot snagged on the leg of a chair.

Until the ground finally caught up with me.

After that you slowed your pace.

Guided me carefully.

Tried to hide the smile you smiled at my expense.

Key word being 'tried'.

And I kept quiet for fear that if I concentrated on anything else besides moving my body forward, I would make an even bigger fool of myself.

But you continued to lead on.

And I grew impatient.

"I thought you said we'd be back in time for the cake."

"We will," was the only response I received.

It wasn't very satisfying.

"Are we even still on your property?" I tried again.

You nodded.

"You have a lot of land."

No response at all.

Marvelous.

I exhaled in frustration, and then moved to another topic.

If you weren't going to say anything about where or how far away we were, the least I could do with this time separate from everyone else was get some other questions answered.

Questions I'd been accumulating since I'd walked through your door that day.

"How long have you known Alice?" I began.

You glanced at me in surprise.

Apparently not expecting the subject change.

Then you thought for a moment and said, "I can't remember a time when I _didn't _know her."

And it was no wonder she talked like she knew everyone.

Because that was exactly the case.

The unpleasant feeling in my gut, which had vanished when we'd left the crowd behind, returned.

"Are you close?"

What you would say next was obvious.

But I still needed to hear it.

No more assumptions, remember?

I got what I needed.

"Pretty close."

And I frowned without even thinking about it.

I didn't think you would catch it.

The sun was setting.

The dim light of the day growing even dimmer.

Eric wouldn't have caught it.

But somehow you did.

"Does that bother you?" you asked.

I thought about lying.

It would make me seem like a better person.

But in the end I wanted to be honest.

I wanted you to know what you were getting yourself into.

In case the facts of my age and marital status weren't enough to scare you off.

Which, judging by the hand I held in mine, the hand that belonged to you, they weren't.

I sighed, "It shouldn't, but it does."

And you smiled.

"So it would bother you if I said we were together?"

My fingers tightened around yours.

"You and Alice?"

"Yeah."

My stomach dropped out of me.

Were the fears I had feared already a reality?

Had I met the 17-year-old girl who would take you away without even realizing it?

Suddenly I hated Alice.

Hated her more than I hated anything or anyone.

It was a completely ridiculous, blinding hatred.

She'd done nothing to me.

And yet she had done the worst thing possible.

"Yes," I finally said, voice tight, "That would bother me."

And you laughed.

Laughed.

And I couldn't believe it.

"Just because you don't have a problem with the fact that I'm with someone else, doesn't mean I wouldn't have a problem if you were," I snapped.

"I never said I didn't have a problem with it," you muttered, then added more clearly, "And, anyway, that's not exactly fair."

"I know," I said.

And the breeze was the only noise for awhile.

But soon I couldn't take it anymore.

"Are you seeing Alice?" I pressed.

"No."

"No?"

"We've been too close for too long. I could never see her that way. She's more like an annoying sister than anything else."

The hatred I felt towards Alice left as quickly as it had arrived.

And anger toward you took its place.

"Then why did you ask-"

But before I could get the rest out, another voice spoke.

"Hey jackass!" it boomed.

And with no further warning, the big family friend I had seen once before, Emmett, was among us.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, ditching your own party? You think we all dragged ourselves here for the free food?"

Emmett's eyes zeroed in on our hands before either of us thought to let go.

He raised his eyebrows at you.

"I was just showing Bella around," you lied.

"Bella," he repeated, "You know, I feel like I've seen you somewhere before."

And though the statement was meant for me, he continued to look at you.

Look at you with the same look I'd seen in Jessica's eyes.

The one that saw too much.

And I wanted to scream 'I told you so!' at the top of my lungs.

And kick myself for believing you.

Because wherever we were headed could not have been worth this.

*

We walked back to the party with Emmett alongside us.

His eyes watched us.

Making me incredibly uncomfortable.

I was sure the casual conversation would turn into angry accusations and threats at any moment.

But it didn't.

The ease of relief loosened my tense muscles when the tables came into view.

I jumped eagerly back into my place.

And smoothed the tablecloth with my hands while you and Emmett returned to the crowd.

*

Dessert went over well.

I think I even heard a few of the party goers complimenting it.

But I can't remember any of the nice things they said.

I was too preoccupied with Emmett.

My gaze followed him for hours.

And every time he spoke to anyone I had to wonder.

Was he telling them about us?

About our too tangled hands?

Our too tangled lives?

When I caught sight of him chatting it up with your mother, I almost passed out.

They were laughing, though.

And that didn't add up.

As nice as she was, I couldn't imagine even she would find this funny.

My heart was in my throat.

So yours had to be too.

And I searched for you.

Trying to find some clue as to what you thought about this.

Maybe you were close enough to actually hear what they were saying.

But you weren't.

No, you were all the way on the opposite side of things.

Immersed in an entirely different group.

You appeared to be fine.

But then again, you were a good actor.

A fact which you proved once more when it was time to open presents.

I seriously doubted you were honestly excited to receive some of the items you did.

But you seemed just as ecstatic to receive a new CD as you did to receive….well…I won't make you relive that.

Anyway, the point of it is the rest of the birthday rituals slid by smoothly.

And, as the mass of teens began to thin, I only wished I could have given you something.

*

I was helping to clean up the mess the mass had left behind.

And, finally, your mother approached me.

"Bella," she said, tired but too friendly to know anything I was afraid she might know, "I haven't had a chance to talk to you all evening. I hope you didn't run into any problems."

"Everything was perfectly fine, Liz."

_With one huge exception._

A smile, "I'm glad. The guests seemed to be quite pleased with your meal, cake and all. And they're not the only ones. I think we might be seeing each other again in the near future, if you wouldn't mind coming back, that is."

The grin I grinned at that moment was instantaneous.

So many reasons to be happy.

The wealthiest, most influential person I'd ever known wanted to work with me again.

She was pleased with me.

Pleased with my work.

Pleased with what I alone could accomplish.

And that in and of itself was fantastic.

But an extended relationship with her meant an extended relationship with you.

Meant this party would not be the end of our entanglement.

And that made me more ecstatic than all the new CDs in existence combined.

*

Your mother assured me cleaning up was not one of my duties.

I insisted anyway.

And, if I hadn't, maybe things wouldn't be like they are now.

Or maybe it would have happened eventually regardless.

And my insistence just happened to be the way it did.

Whatever the answer, I sent myself up the same stairs.

Down the same hallway.

And into the same bathroom I had supposedly used.

The same bathroom you had supposedly found me in.

The same bathroom right next to your bedroom.

I didn't know you were in that bedroom.

But when I heard, "You're still here?"

I immediately recognized the voice.

"Clean up duty," I said.

"You don't have to do that."

I shrugged.

"I thought your room was off limits."

"That only stops half of the people from going in. I still have to fix what the other half destroyed."

I smiled, "Was it worth it?"

You stared at me.

Eyes suddenly intense.

"I wouldn't have met you otherwise, and if this is all I have to pay for it, then absolutely."

I shook my head.

I couldn't imagine why meeting me would be worth anything.

"This isn't all you'll have to pay," I wanted to say.

And I would have been right.

But you stepped forward.

And stroked the side of my face hesitantly with your fingertips.

And I couldn't say anything.

"I never got to show you…" you murmured.

Taking me back to the initial reason we had wandered off.

The reason you had been so secretive about.

And, even though Emmett was the first thing my mind thought of, I still felt the desire to know what it was he had caused me to miss out on.

"You can show me now," I offered.

"It's too late."

It pleased me that you sounded disappointed about that.

And reminded me of something else.

"Well, you can show me another time. According to your mom, I'll be coming back."

Happiness.

"Yeah, I might have had a little something to do with that. Did you like the party?"

"Aside from what happened with Emmett, it was great."

And then I confessed, "I just wish I had something to give you."

And realized I did have something.

I had me.

I could give you me.

Not to keep.

Someone already had a claim in that area.

But for tonight.

For tonight, I could be yours.

The way I'd fantasized of being.

And I could pretend you were mine.

The way I'd longed for you to be.

Everything in my body seemed to awaken with the thought.

So that I could feel the seemingly motionless air moving over my partially exposed arms.

But I didn't know if you would want that.

Didn't know if you would be interested in borrowing someone used.

And so I had to find out.

"We're the only ones upstairs, aren't we?"

I knew we were the only ones.

But I wanted to highlight that aloneness.

"I think so," you said.

You're eyes returned to their earlier intensity.

And I knew my highlighting had served its purpose.

"Edward," I breathed, drawing nearer, "I think I do have a gift for you."

I allowed my hands to touch you.

To trace the strong angles of your face.

To progress to your neck and the collar of your shirt.

To run from your shoulders to your wrists.

And then to travel back up.

And hook together as I placed my arms around you.

You sighed.

I leaned in.

Pressed my lips to your cheek.

And, without pulling back, presented you with another offer.

One I prayed you wouldn't refuse.

"If you want me," I told you, "I'm yours."

And you didn't refuse.

You caught my mouth with yours.

And held me the way I already held you.

And, as our grips tightened, I was glad I hadn't gotten to start cleaning the bathroom.

Our kisses grew passionate quickly.

The wildfire I was beginning to know making a welcome comeback.

And I thrilled at the idea that you _did _want me.

Want me in every physical way you could have me.

Of all the girls I'd seen flirting with you- all the young, fresh, beautiful, single girls who would all too willingly give themselves to you- out of all of them, you still wanted me.

The empowerment I'd glanced at that night in your car returned full force.

I gasped at the resulting rush.

And then I was yanking you.

Yanking you back to the bedroom you were supposed to be cleaning.

And once the door was securely shut and locked, we were on your bed once again.

In a situation very much like the one we had taken part in not so long ago.

But there was a difference.

Not so long ago, we had survived the wildfire, and entered a storm.

But we had stopped.

The difference was, this time, we would not stop.

And it was a huge difference.

**A/N: That was a struggle from start to finish, and the sad part is I didn't even get as far as I wanted to. There's still more that I'm going to have to carry over into the next chapter. But the good news is, once the party is over, the 'stage' should be set. And then things can really get going. **

****For those of you still wondering about the story structure, I don't really want to tell you the answer straight out. Hopefully, if it hasn't clicked for you yet, it will later on. If not, I'll clarify then. **

**Thanks for reading! **


	21. Chapter 21

You know how they say people only really remember the extremely good and the extremely bad?

And everything else gets lost somewhere between the two?

Well, if they're right, that night with you is more ingrained in my head than any other event in the history of my life.

Because I've had my fair share of the extremely good.

Definitely the extremely bad.

But that night was both.

Too good to be bad.

Too bad to be good.

And too extreme to meet in the middle.

I didn't waste any time with you.

After all, who knew how long we would have?

And I had wanted this for too long.

Had gotten too tauntingly close too many torturous times.

As I made work of the buttons on your shirt, I pretended each one was a reason this should not, could not, be happening.

Emmett.

_Pop._

Jessica.

_Pop._

Liz.

_Pop._

Esme.

_Pop._

Eric.

_Pop._

Who I was.

What I was.

What I never would be.

What I was becoming.

_Pop._

Soon your clothes were gone.

Everything standing in our way gone with them.

And I drank in the sight of you like a woman who'd been wandering in the desert for eons, only now realizing it for the wasteland it was.

But there was someone I was forgetting about.

Me.

Me and my fully dressed self.

I was just about ready to rip the garments away.

But a glance at your wide eyes said that that was a task better handled by you.

And I didn't necessarily have a problem with that.

None whatsoever.

So I guided your hands over me.

And that was all the direction you needed.

I closed my eyes.

Focusing on feeling.

Because what you did to me supplied too much to be felt.

You struggled a few times.

Understandably unused to removing women's clothing as you were.

But the struggle made getting there all the sweeter.

And then we were there.

United and twisted and together.

And when you're young you read books and watch movies and see lovers on TV.

And when you read beauty, when you watch passion, when you see all-consuming desire, you yearn for a piece of it too.

And then you get your piece.

And, if you're like me, you learn why those books are labeled 'fiction', why those movies are considered 'dramatic', why desire is easily shaken and accompanied by 'maybe later'.

But after the wildfire, beyond the storm, there was explosion.

Beauty.

Passion.

Desire.

A lethal combination that combusted.

Combusted around us.

Combusted between us.

Combusted within us.

And I didn't just get a piece loaded with everything I had yearned for.

I got all of it.

All of the pieces.

Interlocking, whole, in their entirety.

Far surpassing any euphoria.

And vastly more addictive.

We lay back on each other.

Quivering skin to skin.

Wrapped in your blankets.

Seemingly invincibly safe.

And my eyelids drooped as my breathing evened out.

And consciousness had almost slipped away when I forced it back.

You felt the alteration in me as soon as it happened.

"You have to go," you said.

"I don't have a choice," I answered.

Because there was no other choice I'd rather make than to remain where I was.

"I hate that," you told me, "But what really drives me insane is when you fall asleep tonight, it will be in your husband's bed."

I had nothing to say to that.

You were right.

And so I said nothing.

Your arms tightened around me, "I want you to stay _here_, Bella."

I turned.

Kissed you.

Basked in your wanting me, in my wanting you, once more.

Spoke the words, made the promise, without any further thought.

"I'm here now, and I'll be here again."

*

I drove home in a daze that was only broken when I pulled in.

A car was there.

A car that was usually there.

A car which had returned.

A husband which had returned.

An Eric which had returned.

I groaned aloud.

And was immediately struck with illness.

_Why, why, why now?_

The illness only worsened while I sat there.

I couldn't sit long.

I was sure he heard my car.

And maybe that was a good thing.

But while I turned the doorknob and stepped inside, I certainly didn't think it was.

Eric rose from the couch in the living room.

"Hi," he said.

He started to come closer, but stopped and retreated when I didn't look at him.

I couldn't look at him.

I'd fall apart.

Or throw up.

Or both.

My mumbled 'hi' wasn't even understandable to my own ears.

"I left you messages. Did you get them?"

He said this gently.

Very gently.

Still it caused me pain.

A lot of pain.

"I got them."

Asking about the camping trip would have been the natural thing to do.

The thing I would have done if I'd been capable of doing it.

But I wasn't even on the same planet as capable.

On the other hand, Eric was perfectly capable of being natural.

"How was the-"

I could hardly take those few words, let alone the whole question.

So I jumped in.

"Tiring," I said, "I'm exhausted."

His posture slumped.

"Okay," his voice dulled, "We'll talk in the morning. I love you."

Try as I may, words could not fit around the lump in my throat.


	22. Chapter 22

Waking up on Sunday, or any day I don't have to work on for that matter, is usually a pleasurable experience.

Usually I feel totally rested.

Tranquil.

That was not how I felt the Sunday after your party.

It could have been the reality of what I'd done crashing down on me.

The knowledge now concrete in my long-term memory that I had crossed that line I shouldn't have crossed.

The knowledge that told me I could no longer free myself from you and live with it.

It could very well have been that.

But it could also have been Eric.

The knowledge that he was waiting for me somewhere not too far away.

Waiting to talk to me.

To have a conversation I was pretty sure I'd rather undergo personal torture than have.

Or maybe that was silly to say.

Because the conversation itself, Eric himself, would be personal torture enough.

I rose with a groan and a stretch.

And killed time with both routine and unnecessary tasks.

But then I couldn't put it off anymore.

And descended the stairs one heavy foot at a time.

I thought I'd have awhile before Eric would figure out I was with the living.

Being in front of the computer screen greatly lessened his awareness of what went on around him.

Imagine how terribly surprised I was to find him at the kitchen table.

Newspaper in hand.

Coffee at side.

And (when he saw me) smile on face.

The stereotypical Mr. Good Morning America in the flesh.

In Eric's flesh.

How odd.

"Morning," he chirped.

I watched motionless as the alien who had possessed him hopped up from his seat, poured another cup of coffee, added cream, and placed it in my hand.

I took a sip to wet my dry throat before thanking him.

And soon we were both at the table.

And Eric began.

"How'd you sleep? Feeling more rested?"

"…Mmhmm," I said hesitantly, "How about you?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? Because you were away from your job for four days and your still not locked up in your office."

I knew I had no right to criticize, but hoped maybe if I angered him he would drop this and leave me alone.

Much to my dismay, he nodded, "I thought about that when I woke up. I almost did lock myself up in there," sigh, "But then I realized there were more important things to worry about."

He gave me a significant look.

A look filled with devotion.

A look filled with an array of deep emotions I did not want to identify.

"Like newspapers?" I asked desperately.

This conversation was almost worse than the one I had imagined.

"Like making my wife a priority."

Okay, it was worse.

At any point in my marriage prior to that Sunday, this would be amazing.

Wonderful.

A breakthrough.

And I would fall into the things I knew he was about to say, and say those things back to him.

But at this point…

He got up and shifted closer.

Placing his hands on my arms.

Kissing my temple.

Kissing my shoulder.

And all I could see was you.

You there.

You everywhere.

At this point I had to wonder if those things I would say back to him would be lies.

"I understand why you're mad, but, baby, I'm going to make it up to you."

And then Eric did something he rarely did.

He pressed his lips not to my forehead, not to my cheek, but to my mouth.

It was a pale comparison to kissing you.

Of course it was.

And what was right felt wrong.

But, because Eric's kisses were so seldom, I knew they held great meaning.

And when he pulled back he declared, "You're not last."

And I believed him.

*

For the rest of the week Eric was a model husband.

When he got home from work, he was home from work.

And the time he did spend in his office was minimal.

At the dinner table he was talkative.

He told me about his day and asked about mine.

I heard stories of what went on within the walls of his workplace.

He heard stories of Esme, of the dish that Jessica left in the oven too long, and he seemed genuinely interested.

He even asked me about Mike and Tyler.

Trying to understand my distaste for them.

And we were really communicating with one another.

Really, truly communicating.

At night we shared a bed.

He turned in when I did.

And he did not set the alarm clock in his office because he did not need it.

*

That all sounds great.

And it was.

Which was exactly the problem.

It's easy to justify having an affair when your husband is an ass.

When he's great?

When you have nothing to complain about?

Not so much.

So that was something I fought with.

As if I wasn't sick enough of living in emotional turmoil.

Sick of all the crying.

All the misery.

All the guilt.

But that was how I had chosen to live.

And I knew I deserved every second of it.

My time away from Eric, either at work or home from 4 o'clock to 8, was spent ashamedly thinking of you.

Thinking of you and wondering if you were thinking of me.

"I want you to stay _here_, Bella," you'd said.

And you'd seemed eager enough to hold me to my claim.

My claim that I'd come back.

But I didn't know if you'd feel the same a few days down the road.

What if you decided I really wasn't worth all my trouble?

What if I hadn't lived up to whatever expectations you had for me?

What ifs spinning around in my head combined with no word from you drove me to the point of insanity.

And that's why at work on Friday I was poking around Esme's things in search of her address book.

Inspired by the memory of you saying you'd found my address through similar means.

I knew the number at the house.

But I didn't want to risk your mother answering.

Didn't know what I would say if she did.

So I hoped Esme would have your cell number.

And grinned when I found she did.

I dialed, backing into a bathroom to keep from being discovered by the likes of Jessica.

And was filled with disappointment when my call was sent straight to voicemail.

It was only after I'd hung up I looked at the clock.

Saw it was two in the afternoon.

And knew you were in class.

And that is why all by myself, in a lonely bathroom, I threw my head back and laughed.

*

I pulled back the covers that evening.

Climbing into bed with a sigh.

It was not an unhappy sigh.

Eric and I had gone out to a movie and then dinner.

We almost went to the same place you'd been at once before.

But I dissuaded him from the idea.

Claiming the service wasn't to my liking.

I wasn't kidding either.

I could just imagine how overjoyed our staff member friend would be to see me again.

Anyway, as per his new procedure, Eric followed my lead.

"That was the best movie I've seen in awhile," I commented, "Thanks."

Pride shone on his face, "It seemed like something you'd like."

"That's usually how you defend your choices."

"I know," he admitted with a smile, "But I finally got it right."

"Yeah, _finally_," I teased, "You probably would have sooner if you'd been paying attention."

"Probably."

He put his arm around me and gave affection to my cheek.

I wouldn't have thought anything of it except he did not pull back.

He lingered close by.

His arm resituated me.

And for the second time that week he made contact with my lips.

I said his kisses were seldom.

And they were.

So seldom only two things would draw them out:

If he was saying something important and meant what he said, he would kiss me.

Or if he wanted to have sex, he would kiss me.

And given there had been no monumental announcement as a prelude, I was betting on the latter.

His body was familiar to me.

I'd gotten to know it well.

But I did not want to fall into the familiar.

I wanted to fall into you.

Wanted your touch.

Your kisses.

Wanted your eyes to stare into.

And on came the disgusting gut twisting feelings.

I was sick.

Horrible.

Rotting from the inside out.

And then, when I was just about to detach myself from Eric, the doorbell rang.

I think that is the first and only time I can say I was honestly happy to see Tyler.

.


	23. Chapter 23

Tyler Crowley is different from Mike Newton in all of the following ways:

(Please insert differences here.)

Alright, maybe they're not that similar.

But they fall under the same category in my book, so why waste time with unnecessary details?

The important thing is Tyler saved me from a very uncomfortable predicament.

One I knew I would be faced with again, probably sooner rather than later.

I would have hung around for the conversation Tyler pulled Eric from bed to have.

But the way Tyler looked from me to Eric and back gave the impression he didn't want an extra pair of ears listening.

Before I excused myself for the night, I only knew Tyler had gotten himself in a mess yet again.

I wish I'd never learned anything further than that.

*

"Bella?" Jessica called into the kitchen.

It was the start of a new week at Edible Art and she and I were the only ones starting it.

Esme had phoned from the hospital that morning.

She'd apologized for leaving us by ourselves.

But apparently, for a lot of complicated reasons I can't recall, that was just the way it worked out.

Business was….busy.

Unfortunate for us, right?

Wrong.

Being busy occupied the two of us to such a degree that casual conversation was impossible.

To such a degree that Jess pestering me about you was impossible.

But by the time she called my name it was almost 3:30.

And things had slowed down.

I replied with caution.

"Do you mind if I leave a little early?" she asked.

"No," I said curiously, "Why? Are you going somewhere?"

"To Tyler's. Lauren is really upset, you know? She needs someone to be there for her right now."

Lauren was Tyler's current girlfriend.

I knew that much.

But I'd never known Jessica to be the comforting type.

I also didn't have the slightest clue as to what she was talking about.

And so I was confused.

Jessica saw this and became lost herself.

"Eric didn't tell you…" she muttered.

"Tell me what?"

She stared at me.

"Tell me _what_?" I repeated my desire to know growing stronger.

The enjoyment she felt at having the informational advantage of the conversation lit Jessica's face, "Nothing. Don't forget to lock up."

I was still wondering what was going on as I walked across the parking lot to my car.

Whatever Jessica was talking about must be linked to Tyler's visit.

I was sure of that.

But when I questioned Eric about it the day after Tyler showed up he'd told me it was "nothing".

It was the same word Jessica threw at me.

And evidently just as false.

Eric was trying to make up with me.

And keeping secrets definitely wasn't the best way to go about it.

He had to be aware of that.

Meaning he had to have a good reason to befoul his recently cleansed record…

A car horn honked twice from somewhere across the street.

I was jostled from my thoughts and my keys clattered from where they were clutched in my hand to the pavement.

I cursed as I bent to retrieve them.

I hated car horns.

They were so loud and obnoxious.

Which was central to their purpose.

But still.

Just as I got the door open, the driver from across the street honked again.

This time causing me to hit my head on the vehicle.

I hissed in heated pain.

I could tell from the sound the honker had not moved.

He must have been waiting for someone.

Impatient bastard.

As I settled in my seat, there was a third pair of annoying honks.

And I finally turned around to seek out the culprit.

Directly across the street from where I work there is a rental video store.

It's a small place.

With a small group of regular customers.

And a small parking lot.

But I'm sure you know three out of four of those facts.

Because when I turned around.

When I looked across the street.

When I saw that silver car in that small parking lot.

That's when I knew who the culprit was.

That's when I knew who that culprit was honking at.

Who they were waiting for.

And I climbed out of my car.

Sprinting impulsively, stupidly, to the place I needed to be.

I jumped into the passenger's seat beside you.

And as soon as you were within reach, my hands were on you.

Traveling hungrily over your face.

Tangling wildly in your hair.

Kissing you with as much force as I had in me.

A low hum resounded from your throat, vibrating through me in the most pleasant of ways.

And as your hands extended behind me, curling into fists and creating knots in the fabric of my shirt, I found the reassurance I had been so doubtful of.

And then there was anger.

I leaned away, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Why haven't you called me?" I demanded.

You let your limbs fall to your sides.

Taking a moment to organize your thoughts or adjust to my sudden change of mood.

I wasn't sure which.

"I couldn't," you said.

Time passed.

"Oh, okay thanks for the explanation. I completely understand now," I let the sarcasm in my words remain sharp.

And your limbs were up again.

Gripping the steering wheel.

"It was Emmett," you stared out the windshield, "He didn't want me to call you."

I remembered the eyes that saw too much.

"He knows."

You nodded.

"But he only saw us together once. We weren't even doing anything wrong," I thought back to what he'd seen, and the most telling thing I came up with was hand holding.

"We didn't have to be doing anything wrong," you sighed, "He said he could tell by the looks on our faces."

Suddenly I was filled with worry, "You don't think anyone else could tell, do you? You don't think Emmett would…?"

You were instantly certain.

"I know he wouldn't."

The conviction in your voice puzzled me, "How do you know that?"

And you were gazing intently out the windshield again.

This time I was positive you were organizing your thoughts.

"Emmett understands our…situation better than most," you said slowly.

I chewed that over for a minute.

And then inhaled in shock.

"It didn't end well for him," you went on, "He was trying to…protect me or something, I guess. If he knew I was here, he wouldn't be very happy."

I wanted to ask exactly how Emmett understood our situation.

I wanted to hear his story.

Wanted to know the ending that wasn't a happy one.

But the guarded glint in your eye informed me that you would tell me none of those things about your friend.

And I had to accept that.

"So… you didn't call me because you were following his advice," I pieced together.

That was an explanation that made perfect sense.

If you'd stuck to it, it would have benefited and saved you in countless ways.

But even knowing you had considered it, had started to follow through with it, sent a jolt of pain shooting through my chest.

"What changed your mind?" I needed to know.

"I realized I'm not Emmett, you're not that woman, and things could be different for us, Bella."

You stroked my cheek tenderly, "I want them to be different for us."

"So do I," I whispered.


	24. Chapter 24

I would have gladly spent every second of Eric-less time I had with you.

But you had plans with Alice.

Plans you were already running late on thanks to me.

And when she called you, we both knew you had to leave.

"Going for pizza?" I deduced after you'd hung up.

"Yeah," you smirked, "It's her favorite place."

I raised an eyebrow at you.

"Will you be _alone_?"

You shook your head in a way that made me feel ridiculous, "There will be at least four or five other people there. It depends on how many she was able to recruit this time."

"I haven't gone out for pizza in awhile," I said mostly to myself. We always either picked it up or had it delivered.

"You can come if you want," you offered, amused.

"Somehow I don't think that's the best idea."

You chuckled; making me smile.

"You're probably right," you admitted.

"Probably," I said, "But since it has now been proven that you _are _actually capable of planning things, a little warning before your next sporadic appearance would be nice."

"I'll keep that in mind," you grinned.

And kissed me passionately goodbye.

*

I placed freshly made spaghetti on the table that evening, humming cheerfully.

Seeing you had left me in high spirits.

Over four hours later I was still feeling the effects.

"Something good happen to you?" Eric questioned while he filled his plate.

I stopped humming.

"Not really," I studied my fork, "What about you?"

"Nothing good," he mumbled.

And reminded me of what I didn't know.

Of what he was keeping from me.

I chewed thoughtfully as I considered ways to approach the subject.

I kept it casual, "Jess and I were the only ones working today."

"Huh. How'd that happen?"

My mouth was full of pasta so I shrugged.

"We had a few people missing today too," he supplied.

I turned my head to hide the upwards curve of my lips, "Was one of them Tyler?"

"Tyler?"

"Jessica left early. She said she was going to go see his girlfriend. Is something wrong with her?"

Eric drank noisily from his glass.

Once it was back on the table he twined his hands together in front of him.

His obvious nervousness was unsettling to me.

What had Tyler done?

"What don't I know, Eric?"

He took a deep breath.

Holding it in for a moment.

Then releasing it unsteadily.

"Lauren is pregnant," he said.

My stomach dropped.

An unpleasant heat flashed down my spine.

The silverware slipped from my suddenly clammy palms.

"Oh," I breathed weakly.

"I wasn't going to say anything," he told me, his voice sounding far away, "I know how hard it's been."

And it had been hard.

Incredibly hard.

From the time we were married up until about two years ago, Eric and I had been trying to have a baby.

Trying.

And failing.

And failing.

After over a years' worth of negative tests, we decided to seek medical help.

The doctors found no cause for our struggle and recommended some treatments.

But the future only brought more negative results.

More emotional agony.

Every time I was so sure that this would be the time.

And every time it wouldn't be.

It got to the point where I would lock myself in the bathroom for hours.

Sobbing.

Asking over and over again what was wrong with me.

No one had an answer.

Eric was ready to call it quits.

Sick of watching me suffer.

When something amazing happened.

I got pregnant.

And for a week, I was the happiest woman alive.

For a week.

And then I miscarried.

And depression set in.

The doctors said Eric and I fell into the 10-20% of infertile couples with unexplained reproductive failure.

And we both called it quits.

I got over my depression.

I got on with my life.

I accepted the hand I'd been dealt the best I could.

But pregnancy was still a very painful issue for me.

And I immediately understood Eric's decision not to tell me.

But I'd asked for it.

So I pulled myself together with great effort.

"No," I forced the strangled words from my throat, "I would have found out sometime anyway. That's great. Are they getting married?"

It wasn't until I saw Eric's contorted expression that I remembered Jessica saying Lauren wasn't happy, but upset. That she wasn't going over to congratulate her, she was going over to comfort her. That Tyler hadn't showed up with the sun shining and a smile on his face, he'd showed up in the dead of night searching for a solution to his latest problem.

His latest problem…

"They don't want the baby," I realized, my voice breaking.

Eric spoke in a low, soft tone as if he could make the words less menacing by delivering them more gently, "She has an appointment tomorrow."

"An appointment? You mean-"

He nodded.

And I broke down.

Eric got up and came around the table to hold me.

"It's not fair," I cried.

Wishing I had known Eric only lied to me out of kindness.

Wishing I'd never learned the terrible truth.

Wishing…

Uselessly wishing…

**A/N: I meant to apologize for the long gap of time between chapters 22 and 23 in chapter 23, but it was late and I just wanted to get it posted. My updates are as sporadic as Edward's appearances in this story. Maybe he'll plan ahead a little better and I'll improve in time management. Thank you all for reading! **


	25. Chapter 25

I was lying in bed some hours later.

Staring at the crinkled ceiling above me.

Listening to Eric's rhythmic breathing beside me.

Unable to belong in the quiet that surrounded my restless form.

I thought about work.

About the option I had.

The option not to go.

If I chose to call in sick, to let what I'd learned about Lauren and Tyler rip open my old wounds, Eric wouldn't think anything less of me for it.

Because he was my husband.

And he would stand by me.

Always.

We had our problems.

But if nothing else, he was someone who cared for me.

There were women out there who would settle for a lot less.

Who would be faithful to him.

And honest.

I wasn't just keeping you from what you deserved.

I was holding Eric back too.

Groaning softly, I got up and wandered downstairs to the kitchen.

It took a glass of water, a handful of junk food, and two Tylenols for me to realize what I was really doing there.

What I really needed for my peace of mind.

I snatched the phone from its cradle.

And brought it along to the far end of the house.

Where I dialed.

Where my call was answered.

Where I asked, "Can I see you tomorrow?"

And you said I could.

*

It was that promise and that promise alone that got me through the day.

Time dragged.

Just because I wanted it to fly.

And the second Esme drove away, the second I was certain I was alone, I left without even bothering to remove my apron.

My eyes darted immediately to the small building across the street.

And there you were.

Waiting just like you said you would be.

I took a deep breath.

And the air was fresh, and crisp, and untainted.

My feet shifted, all too ready to bolt thoughtlessly to your car again.

But I would have to make an attempt to at least appear normal.

So I turned.

And climbed into my car.

And parked beside you in a far more conventional manner.

You looked at me.

And I looked at you.

And the same time that hurried and slowed at the most inappropriate of moments stopped altogether.

"Any plans I should know about?" I questioned as the clocks returned to their ticking and I piled in next to you.

I found myself too caught up your face to really take in what your answer was.

But it must have been something in the negative.

Because I did hear the second part of it.

The part where you said, "I'm yours for as long as you want me."

And I remembered wanting to be yours.

Pretending to be yours for that torturously short time.

And the fact that you, in turn, wanted to be mine…

Well, nothing could have pulled me from the grips of misery more thoroughly.

"Why do you stare at me like that?" you asked, making me aware that I was once again gawking at you.

I turned my attention to my hands instantly before glancing back up at you in a way that I hoped was casual.

"I think you're…" _fascinating, amazing, incredible, glorious, over and beyond anyone I've ever known…_

"Handsome," I finished lamely.

"Oh," you said, your brow furrowed, "That's all?"

"Is that not enough for you?"

"No, no, I'm glad that's what you think, I mean thank you," you stammered, "It's just..."

You paused.

"Other girls stare at me sometimes, and I know from their eyes what they're thinking," you looked to me uncomfortably, embarrassed, "But when you stare, it's…different somehow. Like you see something in me they don't. I just wish I knew what that something was."

I knew what that something was.

That something I saw that none of the other girls you were comparing me to, girls who were probably all in their teens, would think twice about.

And it astounded me that you had picked up on the contrast.

Your innocence.

Your lack of experience in life.

Your freshness.

All anew and unspoiled.

That is what I saw.

That is why I called you.

Because that is exactly what I needed.

Telling you none of this, I pecked you quickly on the mouth and replied, "Let me know when you figure it out."

Your eyes watched me.

Hoping I would say more.

And then, with a sigh, you gave up.

"Where to?" your hands gripped the steering wheel with purpose.

"Let's stay here," I almost said.

Imagining the two of us wrapped around each other in the backseat.

Imagining your hands gripping _me _with purpose…

But all the glamour and class of doing such a thing in the parking lot of a video rental store turned me off to the idea.

So instead…

"Is your mother home?"

Confusion.

"She shouldn't be."

"Then why don't we head over there? I never got to see your new basement."

You blinked.

Then started the car.

"Okay then," you said, "I guess we'll go visit my basement."

And I smiled.

*

You turned on the radio as we drove along.

It wasn't a station I was familiar with.

But the music had a good beat.

And I enjoyed it.

At some point I rolled down the window.

Wanting to feel the wind on my face.

And I let my hair down.

And shut my eyes.

And felt the individual strands graze over my cheeks.

"I didn't know you had gray hair," you observed suddenly.

"What?" I gasped.

I ran my fingers through it.

Searching.

I did not have gray hair.

Did I?

And then you chuckled.

And I wanted to beat your face in.

I settled for hitting your arm.

"I _do not_ have gray hair," I growled.

You only laughed more.

"You should have seen your face," you said.

And then imitated what I'd missed out on by widening your eyes in a horrorstruck expression.

And I laughed in spite of myself.

"You're cruel," I accused as I caught my breath.

"Sometimes," you admitted.

"I hope you know I won't hesitate to make fun of you the next time you get a pimple."

You grinned, "I'd say that's fair."

I concentrated on the wind again before my curiosity broke the silence.

"Where do you go to school?"

"Forks High."

I don't know what I expected you to say, but it definitely wasn't that.

"You do?"

"You expected I'd go somewhere more sophisticated."

It wasn't a question.

I responded as if it were anyway.

"Well, given your house and everything, yes."

You shrugged, "I tried out a few private schools at first, but, in the end, my mom and I decided Forks High was as good as any."

I didn't speak.

You took advantage of my silence.

"Where did you go to school?"

"Forks. That's where I met….Eric."

It wasn't my intention to bring my husband into the conversation.

But the words came automatically.

And by the time I realized I was saying them, it was too late to avoid it.

I looked to see your reaction.

You seemed absorbed in driving.

I wondered if this was a reaction.

Or if you were truly concentrating.

Knowing your age, you couldn't have had your license for very long.

"What does he do?" you asked without meeting my eyes.

"He's a businessman. He gets so lost in his work, I try not to ask about the science of it. But he'll tell me when he gets a promotion or anything like that. He has friends who work there too."

"And you love him."

Once again, there was no question to your words.

No accusation either.

In fact, it would have passed for an entirely casual statement if your voice hadn't gone flat.

"Of course," I sighed.

Feeling a bit nauseated.

You sighed as well.

And then turned off the car.

"We're here," you announced.

*

You took my hand the moment we stepped inside.

I was thankful for that.

The basement was one of the many places I'd never seen in your mansion of a home.

And I was sure if you left me to my own devices I'd get lost.

The immaculacy of the house never failed to make me feel out of place.

We followed the vaguely familiar route to the kitchen; passing unforgettable paintings and furniture that was so extravagant each piece seemed to be a work of art in and of itself.

And then we took a turn I'd never taken before.

And, soon enough, we had reached our destination.

"Wow," I breathed.

The décor of the basement had a completely different feel than the upstairs.

It was distinctly modern.

Dark and edgy.

My eyes had to adjust to the sudden change in lighting.

"It was a big change," you said conversationally, "But most people seem to like it."

"Do you?"

"Like I said, it was a big change."

Your voice sounded a little strange.

I was going to question it, but you offered to give me a tour before I could ask.

And I accepted.

I followed you around as you pointed out video games, televisions, pool tables, and various other expensive items of entertainment.

What really ingrained itself in my mind, though, is what you showed me last.

Your hands held open a pair of twin glass doors.

Waiting for me to pass through.

"And this," you were saying, "Is the pool."

I walked passed you.

And low and behold, there was indeed a pool.

The smell of chlorine reached my nose as I moved cautiously around its oval-shaped border.

"Is Liz a swimmer?"

I could hear your footsteps echoing behind mine as you said, "No, that would be me. She hates the water."

And that is when my klutziness got me in trouble.

As it tends to do.

Someway, somehow, even with my caution, I placed my foot just a little bit too close to the edge.

Just enough to throw me off balance.

Just enough to send me tumbling into the water.

**A/N: This is another chapter that I'll have to break apart into two. After all of the recent depression, it was nice to write something a little lighter. I've had company for the past week and half. My cousin came up to visit. It was nice to have her here, but, naturally, I couldn't write much (and I got stuck sleeping on the couch). Thanks again for your support of this story! I'm always anxious to know what you guys are thinking! **


	26. Chapter 26

Prior to falling into it, I would have assumed your pool was warm.

But that's the problem with assuming.

There tends to be a far better chance of being wrong than right.

And the water that surrounded me, the water that flooded my unprepared throat, was freezing.

The temperature was all I had time to notice, though.

Because you reached in.

And grabbed me.

And you did it quicker than I would have thought possible.

You lifted me out of the water and, as you were pulling me back to sit on the side, you said, "Are you alright?"

Breathless and surprised and concerned.

I was too choked up to answer.

How a person can swallow gallons worth of water in a matter of seconds, I'll never know.

But I managed it.

I stared at you between coughing spells while you patted my back.

The sleeves of your shirt were soaked from your wrists to just below your shoulders.

The drenched fabric clung to your skin.

And I thought it was really too bad I hadn't fallen further into the pool.

Really too bad you hadn't submerged your entire body when you came to my rescue.

But I had.

It wasn't until I was able to breathe normally again that I fully noticed the weight of my clothes.

How they stuck and bunched and dripped against me.

I cast an eye over myself before admitting what was impossible to deny.

"My clothes are ruined."

You turned your visual attention to my sopping form for slightly longer than necessary.

"I can put them in the dryer for you," you offered.

I raised an eyebrow at you, "And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

"Well…" you began, my words making you obviously uncomfortable.

I waited.

"I could give you a shirt or something to wear."

I could tell by the look on your face that you wanted to do no such thing.

Fortunately, I didn't either.

The idea came to me.

And I acted on it before my better judgment could interfere.

I stood up.

I peeled all of the wet material off me.

Swiftly and without thinking.

Then I gathered it into a pile.

Just as I would organize my own laundry.

And held the saturated heap out to you.

"Here," I said.

But just because I was ignoring the fact that I was naked didn't mean you were.

Not in the least.

And the way you gawked at my body made me self confident and self conscious at the same time.

I fought against the self consciousness for as long as I could bear, but you still made no move to take the clothes or prove to me I hadn't just done something completely idiotic.

And eventually the self consciousness conquered all else.

I curled my arms inward.

Pressing the outfit to me to cover myself the best I could.

"Where do you keep your shirts?" I asked, mortified.

My speaking seemed to pull you from your trance.

"Sorry," you apologized as you tuned back in with Earth and got up.

You shifted your weight uncertainly once you were on your feet.

It was only then I realized you were embarrassed too.

Embarrassed for me?

Embarrassed of the situation I'd put us in?

Or embarrassed of your reaction to the situation?

I could only guess.

A very awkward moment passed then.

A moment when you tried to take the clothes, but weren't sure you should take them.

A moment when I tried to hand you the clothes, but wasn't sure I wanted to surrender my only cover.

When you finally got a hand on them, I think we were both relieved.

Somewhat, anyway.

And we laughed to break free from the tension of the past few minutes as you took my work clothes away and I replaced them on my body with my arms.

"Remind me never to strip down in the middle of your basement again," I told you lightly.

Though I was still more than a bit humiliated.

As a matter of fact, that particular afternoon would have gone down in the history of my life as one of the most disgraceful afternoons I'd ever suffered through.

It would have.

But then you said, "I don't mind."

And your eyes were radiating those words as they ran over me.

"At all," you added.

And they radiated that, too.

And the air became filled with a drastically different kind of tension.

The kind I'd been hoping for all along.

And I sighed and pulled myself to you.

And moaned into your mouth when I learned that my decision to throw caution to the wind had in fact done something to you.

When I was reassured my body did in fact evoke desire in yours.

You dropped the clothes.

And I knew they were still wet.

I knew if I didn't say something then that they would remain wet.

But, frankly my dear, I didn't give a damn.

Because, once your hands were free, I became the subject of their attention.

And they wrought havoc on my skin, still slick with moisture.

And all the while our tongues teased each other as our kissing grew increasingly passionate.

Until someone broke through my lusty brain like a hammer to glass.

"Your mother," I huffed.

A droplet of water ran from the hair of my temples down the side of my face.

You trailed your lips after it.

The gentle caress of them accented by the heat of your breath.

And then you caught up to the drop.

And the tip of your tongue grazed over it.

I could have come undone right then.

"We have awhile," you said to the concern I could hardly remember having.

"Do we…really?" I forced out in a whine, "Or…are you just…saying that?"

"Right now," you ground out as we began to rock almost unintentionally against one another, "I'm not…sure."

We groaned in unison.

And that was it for conversation.

You shed your clothes.

They wound up somewhere in I-don't-give-a-damn land with mine.

And for the second time.

On the side of the indoor pool.

In your new basement.

I was yours.

You were mine.

And we were together.

*

The smell of chlorine was the first thing to invade the peace of my mind.

The clobber of footsteps was the second.

"Edward?" called a voice muffled by distance.

I opened my eyes slowly.

The cloud of sleep made reality difficult to comprehend.

My head was lying against your shoulder.

And the sight of your slumbering face made me smile.

How I ever could have been happy in life without you is a true mystery.

And then the call came again, louder than before, "Edward!"

And recognition shot through me.

"Elizabeth Mason!" I mouthed, jolting upright.

Oh.

My.

God.

Elizabeth Mason was home.

Filthy rich Elizabeth Mason.

She who has the power to make or break me.

Who had been nothing but kind to me since the moment I'd entered her life.

A life I'd been destroying via her son.

And now she was here.

And she was about to find out about it in a not-so-subtle way.

I clambered out of your embrace.

Searching the floor frantically for my clothes.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God…" I chanted softly as I tugged on the damp ensemble that never quite made it to the dryer.

I took your clothes and threw them on top of you.

"Edward!" I hissed.

But you showed no signs of being even remotely aware of what was going on around you.

I growled in frustrated panic.

I grabbed hold of your shoulders and shook you desperately.

"Come on, wake up damn it!" I whispered, afraid to speak any louder.

Of course you just had to be a heavy sleeper.

Finally consciousness caught up with you.

"Your mother's here! She's looking for you upstairs. I _have_ to get out of here," I rushed to explain, "Maybe you could keep her preoccupied while I…"

But then something else occurred to me.

And whatever plan I was formulating fell to pieces.

"Shit! I left my car in the parking lot at the video store!"

I put my head in my hands, fighting the urge to scream.

"What?" you asked, bewildered and too loud.

"Shh!" I hushed you urgently, "Just get dressed. Please."

"Edward!" your mother's voice rang out while you pulled up your pants, "I know you're here."

I could hear her more clearly now.

She was getting closer.

Or more agitated and yelling louder.

Or a combination of the two.

How much longer before she decided to check the basement?

"You're being serious," you said, at last realizing what exactly was happening.

"Of course I am! Do you think I would joke about something like this?" I demanded, "Can you get away long enough to drive me home?"

"I think so," you answered, "I'll go see what she wants. At least that will stop her from looking around."

And then I was alone with the pool.

I paced back and forth for awhile.

Unable to stay still.

But our recent floor activities had left me mildly stiff and achy.

And I soon settled for thrumming my fingers against my sides.

I'm sure you can figure out why I was so uppity.

But let's picture the scene being played out here.

Just in case it's a little fuzzy.

An employee of a very influential and wealthy woman sleeping with the rich woman's son on the side of the indoor pool in said wealthy woman's basement. The employee, who is 20 years older than the son and married, by the way, falls asleep naked on top of said son. And said wealthy mother of said son comes home while said son and said employee are snoozing together by said pool. Not to mention, said employee left her car in a parking lot across the street from where she works and has no way to leave. And now said employee waits for said son to return from talking to said wealthy mother, to convince said wealthy mother said employee is not in the house and did not sleep with said son on the side of said pool in said basement.

Lost?

Good.

So am I.

*

You thought right when you predicted you would be able to take me home.

Even if it was almost 9 o'clock when we pulled in.

I was overly relieved that your mother was still in the dark.

And would hopefully remain there.

And so the time didn't bother me.

At least not until after your sexy ass car faded into the distance.

And I came into the garage to find another car waiting for me.

Another car.

Eric's car.

And then the time meant something else entirely.

Because he had to have noticed I wasn't home when he got here.

He had to have noticed I didn't park my car in the garage just now.

He had to have noticed someone dropped me off.

And it was all I could do to pray that he didn't notice who that someone was.

**A/N: Hi, everyone. Sorry I haven't touched this story in so long. A couple of you messaged me wondering what was going on, and the truth is I was going to give up on TDTD. But I found a renewed interest in it, and changed my mind. I really want to see this through to the end. Thank you for your patience and enthusiasm. **

**I read through all of the previous chapters before writing this, but I've been away for awhile and I know there's a decent chance this isn't going to flow perfectly with the rest. So I apologize for anything that seems off. Again, it's been awhile.**

**I can promise you this is just the first bump on a road that is going to get rockier and rockier as Bella continues on her journey down it. Buckle your seatbelts. **


	27. Chapter 27

I shut the door behind me as quietly as possible.

That same old dread digging it's claws in while I took a reluctant glance in the mirror hanging innocently by the entryway.

And cringed.

My reflection was a disaster.

A horrible, something-sure-as-hell-happened-to-you disaster.

And I had little to no chance of Eric not noticing my hair which was much too messy.

Or my clothes, much too wrinkled and damp.

Even my face itself was off.

Wide eyed, and flushed, and guilty as an axe murderer.

If he was boarded up in his office, I might have had a chance of sneaking into the bathroom.

But he was sitting on the couch flipping through TV channels.

And I knew by the uninterested way he stared at the screen I was doomed.

When I got close enough for him to feel my presence, Eric dropped the remote and stood.

His eyes ran over me anxiously for a second before his arms enveloped me.

The tightness of his hold came as a surprise.

"I was so worried about you," he breathed.

That came as a surprise too.

Uncharacteristic of my typically lax husband.

"You were?"

"Called all over the place. Your work, Esme, Jessica, Tyler…"

Silence.

"None of them could tell me anything, and you were such a wreck last night… I just didn't know what to think."

"Sorry."

He ran his eyes over me again, "You look like a wreck right now, Bella."

"I know," I mumbled weakly, "It's a long story."

I had no intention of telling him our story.

No way was I even considering telling him that.

But I needed time to think of what I could tell him.

And the words were an easy way out.

"I feel disgusting," I said, and it wasn't a lie, "Let me get a shower, and I'll meet you upstairs."

He sighed but let me go.

And then sniffed the air with a confused expression.

"Do you smell chlorine?" he asked, perplexed.

"Later," I promised.

Rushing away to the sanctuary of steam and body wash.

*

Eric was waiting on the edge of our bed, clearly desiring answers.

And clearly deserving them.

I went over what I'd decided to share with him as I sat.

It seemed to be in my best interest to stay as close to the truth as I could without admitting to infidelity.

"I was with the Mason's," I began, very consciously making the name plural, "They wanted me to see their new basement."

His response was as I expected, "Why?"

"I don't know, Eric. Maybe they were excited about it. I'm not them."

"It doesn't take five hours to show off a basement."

I snorted, "It does if the basement is as big as theirs. Their place is _huge_."

"Yeah, I've driven past it before," he muttered.

I made my voice intentionally enthusiastic, "Well, it's all the more incredible on the inside. They even put in an indoor pool. The chlorine you smelled was me, by the way, I fell in. That's another reason why I was so late; I was waiting for my clothes to dry."

I hoped the news of my perpetual clumsiness screwing me over yet again would take away the tension in his face.

Instead it only amplified the expression.

He glowered at the carpet for a moment.

And then he looked at me.

And for the first time I saw suspicion in his eyes.

A flicker of true suspicion.

But, just like I knew he would, Eric dismissed it.

_Nah, _I could see him thinking, _Not Bella._

And the flicker was thoroughly doused.

Because the Bella he knew would never do anything like that.

And he put his arm around me.

And pulled me close.

And ducked down to kiss my shoulder.

It was a lingering kiss that trailed over to neck and up the side of my face.

And landed on my lips with an apologetic pressure.

And I knew he felt terrible for even considering for that brief moment that I was doing something worthy of suspicion.

"I'm glad you're okay," he whispered.

I did my best to smile.

But as my lips turned upward I saw exactly how he wanted to make amends.

And I realized, much to my horror, no Tyler was going to come knocking this time.

If I wanted out of this, I would have to object myself.

But objecting then would have only brought back his suspicions.

Only enforced the feeling that something was not right.

And I couldn't have that.

So I let Eric have me.

*

Sometime in the extremely late hours of the night, or early hours of the morning depending on your view, I became aware of the phone ringing.

It was shrill and annoying and persistent.

A horrible combination of adjectives.

But the instant I identified the nuisance as the phone, I shot out of bed.

Because the only reason one receives a call at such an ungodly hour is either death or some other kind of tragedy.

When I choked out a panicked hello and Esme's frantic voice answered, ice raced down my spine.

Carlisle.

Oh dear lord, Carlisle.

Oh no, no, no, no….

But then she said, "Someone broke into the bakery."

And I had to recover before I could respond, "What?"

"They must have done it last night. All of the windows are shattered," she sobbed, "It's a disaster, Bella."

"Don't worry. I'm on my way," I said in the most soothing tone I could find through my shock, "Did you call the police?"

"Yes, they're here."

"Alright. I'll be there as soon as I can."

I hung up, still trying to absorb what she'd said as I searched desperately for clothes.

"What's going on?" Eric mumbled sleepily from bed.

"Someone broke into the bakery. Shattered windows, the whole bit."

He sat up, "Oh my God."

"I'm heading over there right now."

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"No, I'm almost ready."

I turned and started hurrying out of the room, but then I remembered.

_Damn it!_

"I need to use your car; I left mine at work yesterday. Can you call Mike or Tyler or somebody to drive you to work?"

"I…" he trailed off, trying to take in what I'd just told him.

"Eric!"

"Yeah! Yeah, yeah take it!"

I started to leave again.

But I couldn't drive without…

"Keys?" I called over my shoulder.

"Coffee table," he called back.

And then I was finally free to leave.


	28. Chapter 28

Esme wasn't exaggerating about the windows.

Glass shards littered the ground beneath my feet like a coating of snow.

Edible Art was a painful sight to see.

I hated to think of my wonderfully caring boss pulling up to find her business in such sad shape.

And hated it all the more when I spotted her tearstained face.

With a deep breath, I joined her where she stood talking to one of the men parading about in uniform.

She hugged me immediately.

"Can you believe this?" she said into my shoulder.

The rhetorical question came out raspy and weak.

I hugged her tighter in response.

And we stayed that way until Esme was ready to turn back to the cop.

She told him who I was.

He asked me the basics of my job.

You know, hours, etcetera.

And I waited impatiently to ask him what I wanted to know.

"Do you have any idea who might have done this?" I interrupted when I grew tired of waiting.

But he only shook his head, "No, can't say I do."

I'm not sure what my expression was at that moment.

But whatever it was, it compelled him to share what he did know.

"It looks like the windows were busted from the inside," he went on almost defensively, "No sign of tampering with the lock, so either whoever's responsible had a key, or somebody forgot to lock up."

And then a wave of nausea made me want to vomit.

The last one to leave, it was my responsibility to make sure everything was secure for the evening.

But I had been so eager to be with you…

I hadn't bothered to remove my apron.

And I hadn't bothered to lock the door behind me.

And I hadn't meant to invite trouble.

But apparently that is exactly what I did.

So I admitted to being the last one there.

Admitted to my forgetfulness.

And that led to a whole new array of questions.

More detailed than the previous set.

Where I was forced to feed them the same half truth I had fed Eric hours earlier.

And explained with a pathetic attempt at humor the car I'd forgotten at the rental video store.

Which was a mistake.

Because the policeman I was talking to lowered his pair of thick brows.

And the next question he asked was, "Why did you park across the street?"

Clearly finding it strange that I wouldn't just leave my car at the bakery.

It was the best I could do to tell him you and your mother agreed to meet me there.

And that only made his brow droop lower.

"Why?" he asked again.

I looked down at the glass-coated pavement before I could stop myself.

Snapping my eyes back up quickly when I realized dropping eye contact while talking to an officer of the law wouldn't sit too well.

"I don't know," I shrugged, "Eccentricity?"

He nodded, seeming to have the same undeserved impression of the "filthy rich assholes" as Mike.

"Nothing was stolen," Esme reported to me.

The words were the only shred of solace she had in this tragedy.

And I could see how she clung to them.

Like a beacon of light in the thick, impenetrable fog of hopelessness.

I put a hand on her back and smiled in comfort.

But it wasn't long until the sentiment was marred by my confusion.

Why would anyone sneak into a bakery in the middle of the night only to smash in the windows? What would they gain from the pointless destruction?

The animosity I housed for whoever the criminal was rose to its peek.

_Nothing. _

They would gain nothing at all.

Maybe a few laughs.

Maybe an outlet for their temper.

And we had to pay for it in our sweat, blood, and dollar signs.

I didn't know if the outcome would have been any different had I not been hurrying out the door to get to you.

If I would have remembered the locks, they could just as well have shattered it all from the outside.

And I had to believe that that is what they would have done.

Because I couldn't handle another reason to hate my morally corrupt self.

*

It was after three in the afternoon by the time I was back in my own car and on the road.

I made it until I was about ten minutes away from home.

And then I had to pull over.

The break in was far from dealt with.

But now that it had reached a temporary stand still, the truth that I had slept with two separate men in the same 24 hours was soaking in.

I rested my forehead on the steering wheel.

"What am I _doing_?" I groaned.

My throat tightened.

My eyes stung.

And the prospect of crying _again _sent the frustration of it all to the boiling point.

I wanted to scream like the madwoman I was.

To throw a tantrum worthy of the toddler I would never have.

But I was a level headed, sensible person who couldn't possibly be degraded to that degree of humiliation.

Laugh now and forever hold your peace.

So I took a deep breath as I turned on the radio.

Leaning back in my seat.

Squeezing my eyes shut.

And forcing myself to concentrate on the blessedly soft notes spilling from the speakers.

And then recognition hit.

I had heard this song before.

Once before.

In your bedroom.

You probably think I'm lying.

But I swear it was the same song you were listening to on your bed.

The same one I'd heard you singing the first time I'd been granted entrance to your room.

Or maybe not really granted entrance since it was your mother that sent me…

But still.

And all I could see behind my lids was you.

Your body spread out on the mattress.

Your face smoothed and untroubled.

Your lips mouthing the lyrics.

And that's all it took for me to restart the car.

And rejoin the traffic.

And set out to a place I swore I'd never return to again.

*

Forks High School.

The mere sight of the old brick buildings sent a shudder down my spine.

"What am I _doing_?" I groaned for the second time.

And mentally willed you to be there.

Classes couldn't have let out that long ago and I was hoping to catch you on your way out.

Pathetic, I know.

Risky, yes.

But damn well worth it.

I felt like a drug junkie scanning the lot for that sexy ass car.

I was so much like one in so many ways.

Taking something I knew could potentially destroy me.

Something that made me feel absolutely amazing.

And hiding that something from everyone else.

Suffering from the problems that it causes.

Then using the cause of all my problems as the solution.

Something.

A.k.a. someone.

A.k.a. you.

I knew the cycle was forming.

But I chose not to see.

And grinned like a maniac when at last I spotted it.

The proof that you were still here.

That I still had a chance at catching you.

I selected a parking space strategically located around the back of the building closest to your car.

So I could watch without being watched.

And, sooner than I expected, my patience paid off.

You were heading in the very direction I'd hoped for.

Flanked on both sides by the black haired girl I remembered as Alice, and….

Two strangers I couldn't identify.

Though I thought I vaguely recalled serving the blond boy at your party.

He was walking alongside Alice, holding her hand.

And any remaining fear I had of your friendship with her sprouting into anything more dissipated with the sight of their lovesick faces.

Puppy love….I rolled my eyes.

But the other girl with the long strawberry blond hair, walking on your left, I couldn't place.

She was obviously very pretty.

And she shot endless smiles your way.

That was enough to be sure I _would _be able to place her if I saw her again.

But I took comfort in the fact that your hands weren't entwined.

And, as your group broke apart to climb into their vehicles, Alice and the blond boy were the only ones to kiss goodbye.

If you were to change that, however, I don't think the strawberry blond would have minded.

Anyway, I let you get in your car.

And the moment you were in your seat, I hit the send button on my ready phone.

I watched you fumble for your cell through the transparency of windshields while I listened to the ringing in my ear.

And when you found it you looked at the screen with a mix of surprise and something else.

And it wasn't until I heard you say, "Hey, Bella," that I knew the surprise was mixed with delight.

I couldn't help my grin, "Hi."

"Are you still at work?"

"I'm at your school."

"You are?" I loved the way your head whipped around.

"I like your jeans today," I said, giggling, "Black always looks good on you."

You seemed to glance down at your lap for a moment before peering more furiously out the windows.

"Bella, where are you?"

I laughed again, "I told you, at your school. Who was the blond boy holding hands with Alice?"

"Jasper," you said, still searching.

"I think I remember seeing him before."

"He was at my party," you confirmed.

"And the girl with the long hair?"

"Tanya."

"Tanya," I repeated, "She seemed to like your pants today, too. Or maybe she just wanted to get in them."

You sighed, "Bella…"

"I need to talk to you about the bakery," I said.

And then the real reason I came back to this godforsaken school, "I need you."

"Tell me where you're at, then."

Your persuasive voice was suddenly husky.

And I was suddenly overheated.

"Behind the building. Straight ahead. Closest to your car," I directed, "But, Edward-"

The line went dead.

I hung up and looked on as you half jumped out of the car, sprinting to the wrong side of the building and disappearing.

When you reappeared, coming up from behind the car, I had to smile at your eagerness.

Of course, I was just as eager when I'd discovered you waiting for me after work.

Sprinting, albeit not as quickly, to you.

And that made me smile wider.

This time it was your turn to grab _me _the instant the door slammed behind you.

And your lips were on mine.

And your hands were reaching everywhere.

I was just getting lost in the taste of your tongue when reality sounded off in the back of my head.

And I pulled away immediately.

"What are you doing?!" I demanded, checking fearfully out the windows.

"Nobody is going to see us," you said, taking my hands, "No one ever bothers to come back here."

You tried to coax me toward you again, but I wasn't so easily appeased.

"This is a _high school_. You never know when someone might decide to check the places no one ever bothers with, or when some students might decide to take advantage of them."

Both cases were terrible scenarios as far as we were concerned.

"Exactly," you told me, "This _is _a high school, and, on the off chance anyone does catch us, they'll only assume we're a couple of hormonal teenagers."

"I hate to break it to you, but I don't think anyone would mistake me for a teenager."

"You're right. You're much better."

Your eyes strayed from my face to scope over my body, the lust in them accenting what you'd said.

And then you cocked an eyebrow at me, "Did you get dressed in the dark this morning?"

I was prepared to be insulted.

But how could I be when a glance downward revealed the dress pants I wore to your party paired with the old, ridiculous Mickey Mouse sweatshirt Renee sent me from one of her trips to Disney?

"I did, actually," I answered, tugging on the edge of the faded fabric.

There was one chuckle from you.

And then there was laughter.

And it felt so _good _to laugh until there was pain in my sides, until I couldn't breathe.

I can't even tell you how good it felt.

But I will tell you I told you the story behind the sweatshirt just so we could keep laughing.

And I was still trying to get a handle on myself when you wanted to know, "Why did you get dressed in the dark?"

The thought of Esme's call this morning sobered me up pretty quickly.

I wanted to press my body against yours and submerge myself in the incredibly overpowering sensations you and you alone stirred in me.

Overpowering to the point that I wouldn't be able to feel anything besides you.

Wouldn't be able to think of anything besides you.

To the point nothing else would matter besides you and I.

Me and you.

Us.

But, if I did that now, I would have to turn back to the misery of the break in afterwards.

And I figured I would rather tell you about it first and submerge myself later.

Because then when everything went away, I wouldn't have to drudge it back up again.

So I broke the glass.

And let it all come rushing out.

And the second I finished.

The second I was certain you knew all you needed to know.

That was the second I pulled myself into the backseat.

And once I got there I said, "I need you," even though it was easier to say over the phone.

And you understood.

And joined me in the backseat of my own car.

Where I whipped the most mismatching outfit I've ever worn to work in my life over my head and kicked it off my feet.

And you smirked at the discarded pile on the floor before mimicking my actions.

Then I laid down in my bra and underwear.

And the leather of the seat was cool against my mostly exposed back.

I remember because it contrasted so much with the heat of your stare.

You leaned over me, your hypnotized golden eyes flowing over every inch of what I had to offer.

And, even though I knew it wasn't much, you didn't seem to.

And, even though I worried you might be getting tired of me already, you laid your hands on me as if you never had before.

And you gripped my hips tightly between your fingers.

Slowly sliding your grasp up through the curves of my waist and on to the sensitive skin of my ribs.

On to the even more sensitive skin of breasts.

And when you caressed them, even though it was through the padding of my bra, I moaned.

Because the wild fire and the storms and the full on explosions made it impossible not to.

And you released a shaky breath.

And then your hands were on a reverse route.

Traveling back down to the hips from which they came.

And you squeezed them tightly before you settled down between my legs.

And the weight of your body felt like heaven on mine.

So that I couldn't help the quiet "Ahh," that escaped my lips.

And those eyes of yours zeroed in on the lips that let it escape.

And we kissed and our tongues danced.

And your hands left their place on my hips only long enough to remove what was left between us.

As my hands tangled in your hair and clawed into the skin of your back.

And your kisses became more frenzied.

And your hold on my hips grew tighter still.

And all the laughter in the world wouldn't compare to when you finally pressed into me.

And we both cried out because it was so damn extraordinary.

And if I wasn't with you, maybe Esme's bakery wouldn't have gotten busted up.

If I wasn't with you, maybe I would be able to sleep with my husband and actually enjoy it.

If I wasn't with you, maybe I wouldn't feel guilty, or paranoid, or be constantly on the verge of breaking down.

But as I came apart below you and you came apart above me…

I knew if I wasn't with you, I wouldn't be living a life worth living.

**A/N: It's 5 AM right now and I can't believe I'm still conscious, let alone still making sense out of words. Sorry for any mistakes or downright craziness my tired eyes skimmed over. Thank you all for the wonderful reviews. They make writing till this insane hour worth it.**


	29. Chapter 29

"Did you know you have the most incredible body I've ever seen?"

We were resting on our sides in the cramped space that was the backseat.

Our breathing had yet to fully settle into a normal rhythm.

And I rolled my eyes at your question.

Though on the inside I was basking in the idea that you could even possibly think of me that way.

"Did you know I've been alive more than twice as long as you and you have the most incredible body _I've _ever seen?" I countered.

You shrugged, unsurprised, "Yeah."

And I laughed, not knowing whether I wanted to hit or kiss you for your blatant cockiness.

In the end I decided the kissing would be much more fun for both of us.

And I sighed at the heart pounding reaction the tiny, lingering peck resulted in.

"Did you know," I said, keeping with the pattern, "No one has ever made me feel the way you do?"

You took my hand, twisting the gold band on my ring finger, "Not even your husband?"

I shook my head, "Not even him."

"Then, why did you get married?"

Your directness made me uncomfortable.

But, just like Eric, you deserved answers too.

"I…" I thought for a minute, "Eric is a good person. He has good ambitions, he's a hard worker, and he's someone who does his best to look after the people he cares about. I knew he would make a good husband. I knew he would take care of me, and I wanted to take care of him. And that was enough."

You continued to stare at my wedding ring, "Evidently he doesn't take care of you very well, or you wouldn't be here."

"After we met, his best wasn't enough anymore."

"Because he doesn't make you feel the way I do," you glanced up, smiling slightly.

"No one has ever made me feel the way you do," I said again.

Your mouth slipped into a slow, unintentional grin as my words sank in.

You let my hand go and ran your fingers through the hair that had fallen over my shoulder, "No one will ever make me feel the way you do either, Bella."

I rolled my eyes again, "Right. Because at 17, you have the experience to know that."

And you frowned, "I wish you wouldn't undermine me."

"I wish you wouldn't say things you don't mean."

"But I _do _mean it."

"Edward," I said, "You're too young to understand what you're feeling period."

And yes, it was a stupid thing to say, alright?

I admit it.

And I admit that you had every right to pull away and tug on your clothes in quick agitated movements.

But I didn't register that right back then.

"Are you mad at me?" I asked, bewildered.

"I don't know," you answered shortly, "Maybe. I'm not old enough to understand what I'm feeling."

When you reached for the door handle, I grabbed your arm to stop you.

I wasn't ready to face the world without you yet.

I wasn't ready to be alone.

"Don't go," I said, the fear in my voice raw and easily heard, "Please."

You turned back to stare at me.

And I knew by the look on your face that you could see the desperation in my eyes.

And then you sighed and sat back down on the seat, hanging your head and grasping the bridge of your nose between your fingers.

I put the Disney sweatshirt back on before I righted myself at your side.

And put my arms around you.

And wished things could be simple and easy, not for my sake, but for yours.

Because you _were _young.

And the strain I was putting you under was aging you too quickly.

For all I knew, this could have been your first real relationship.

And I was ruining you.

Because I couldn't offer you a real anything.

And I sat in silence.

Holding you for a long moment.

And sometime during it you held me too.

And we wrapped our arms around what would always be out of reach.

And that was the first time you tried to say it.

"Bella," you began, and I knew by the cadence of your voice.

Knew by the feel of your arms.

The hitch of your breathing.

The loving way your fingers brushed my back.

The loving way.

Loving.

And all I could think was:

_Oh God, no._

"I-"

"Eric won't be home for two hours," I interjected with a swift look at the clock.

"Oh," you blinked, trying to figure out if my interruption was intentional or not.

Trying to figure out if I knew what you were going to say.

Or if I didn't realize you were trying to say anything at all.

I forged ahead with conversation, "Is Liz working?"

You nodded.

Adding a bit later, "She'll be out late."

"Hmm," I murmured, finishing getting dressed.

You glanced out the window at the sky.

Gray, but still lit by the day.

"I could show you," you said thoughtfully.

My mind jumped around basements and pools and thousands of other areas of your home before I remembered.

"Show me what you were going to show me when Emmett…"

You smiled in confirmation.

I gave you one in return.

"I'd like that."

*

We drove separate to your house.

I wasn't about to be caught car-less again.

And you weren't about to leave your sexy ass vehicle in the student lot all night.

So we pulled in the drive and I parked close to the road.

Really hoping your mother wasn't going to be getting home early.

And then we met up.

And you took my hand.

And we set off on a long walk I was prepared for this time.

It was quiet.

A peaceful trip.

And we could touch and kiss and stare without the worry of anyone noticing.

And then we finally arrived at the little house sitting on the outskirts of your property.

I was too shocked to contain my surprise, "This is what you wanted to show me?"

I didn't know what to expect.

But it surely wasn't a tiny, rundown home with chipped paint and dirty windows.

"This is it," you said.

And you dropped my hand, moving ahead of me to open the door.

I entered with caution.

It was stuffy inside.

Dim at best.

Even with the windows.

I squinted around me, "Can you turn on a light?"

"There aren't any."

Well, that explained why you'd said it was too late to see before.

But I was only more befuddled.

I peered around with more determination.

And then my eyes adjusted.

And I gasped.

The entire place was cluttered with records, tapes, CDs, roundtables….

Every inch I could see was covered.

The walls, the floor, the overloaded shelves, the ceiling.

All packed with music, musical equipment, and more music.

Dust had gathered on most of it.

And the cases were yellowed with time.

But it was so bizarre.

So much, too much…

This house was a home to insanity.

And goose bumps pricked my skin.

And an eerie wave of intuition had me itching to leave.

"What is this place?" I whispered.

"My father built it for his parents," you told me, "After they died, he turned it into a…music room."

You sounded so strange.

It was a voice I didn't know as yours.

"I can see that," I turned around to look at you.

And you looked like a different person too.

I couldn't reconcile the you I'd been with at Forks High School with the you standing in that doorway.

I realized then I knew virtually nothing about your father.

Just that he was dead.

But I had no idea….

"How did he die?" I asked.

I looked at the insanity of the house again in a new light.

Was it possible that your father was-

"He wasn't crazy," you snapped, as if I had been thinking out loud.

And maybe I had been.

"Okay," I said gently.

I didn't like the darkness in your eyes.

The twist to your features I could only blame on bad memories.

It was the same twist I'd seen when your mother had mentioned your father's passing once before.

And it dawned on me that there was something about his death, about him, about this place that tormented you.

And there was more to you than what everyone saw.

What you let everyone see.

And I didn't like it.

I didn't want to know that person in the doorway.

Didn't want that darkness to intrude on the brightness I knew.

The brightness I craved.

The brightness I needed.

And I didn't understand your reasoning for taking me here.

Especially not your reasoning for wanting to take me here on the day for your party.

"Why…?" I trailed off.

And you seemed to know what I was asking.

"My mom never comes here," you explained, "Ever."

I stared.

You directed your gaze behind me, to the loaded shelves, "It's safe. For us."

Still, I wasn't sure what to say.

"She hasn't set foot in here since she tore out the lights…"

You met my eyes.

Very consciously not finalizing the statement you knew wouldn't make any sense to me.

It was an invitation.

An invitation to ask questions.

And you were giving me the opportunity to delve into the darkness I hadn't even been aware existed in your life.

But I didn't want to know.

Didn't want to except its' existence.

So I said, "Do you come out here a lot?"

And as you nodded you became the you I knew again.

"Listen to this," you instructed with abrupt excitement.

And you walked over and took a record off the wall.

And the place filled with static and forgotten melodies.

And the wrongness of the obsessive clutter faded into the background.

Until it was hard to identify as something different from the typical wrongness that always surrounded you and me.


	30. Chapter 30

A little less than two weeks later, your mother showed up at the bakery.

It had been an amazing 12 days.

By no means an easy 12 days.

But an amazing 12 days nonetheless.

Because eight of those 12 days, I saw you.

And there was laughter and hushed conversations and mind-blowing sex, sometimes with afternoons of static and forgotten melodies in between.

So in spite of the fact we had to run the building from the back until the new windows could be put in, I was cheerful and full of a zest that none of my comparatively depressed coworkers could figure out.

Jessica was ruining our chances with a potential customer on that particular morning.

I could see her arguing with them from where I stood by the oven.

And though their requests were admittedly overdramatic, excessively difficult, and not a far cry from comical, arguing with a customer is forbidden territory.

If there was one thing Esme tried to instill in all of us, it was that golden rule.

I was just about to check to see what she was making of the spectacle when my boss tapped me on the back.

She stuck her thumb out in the direction of Jessica's mess.

"Do something," she hissed.

"Me?"

The non-salesgirl?

Really?

But Esme put a stop to that argument before it began.

She put her hands on my shoulders and guided me towards the problem.

No questions asked.

So I lit up my face with minimum effort.

And Jessica glared ferociously at me as I stole away what she hadn't been able to handle.

Which, I might add, I did quite successfully.

But that was why I didn't notice Elizabeth Mason slipping through the back door temporarily standing in as a front entrance.

And as the new customers left satisfied and eager to have their ludicrous imaginings brought to life, I strode into Mrs. Cullen's office.

"Esme-" I started.

But the sight of the back of your mother's head brought me up short.

"Bella," Esme tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, "Ms. Mason would like to speak to you."

"Please, call me Liz," your mother requested of my boss, "It makes everything so much more personal."

She turned around to lock her eyes with mine at the final word.

And my heart gave a nervous thump in response.

"Now," she straightened, "Bella, tell me how many years you've been married to your husband."

I had stop myself from running out of the room.

"Five," I choked.

And held my breath while I waited for her to reply:

_Now, Bella, tell me how long you've been seeing my son._

And whip the shotgun she was hiding out from where it was surely strapped to her leg.

But she only looked to Esme and asked her for the same information.

"15," she said, eying one of the pictures on her desk forlornly.

And really I'd expected longer.

But I guess it was wisdom and kindness that truly aged Esme more than anything else.

Your mother would have gone on.

But Esme's misery overflowed.

And she clasped a hand over her mouth.

And apologized.

And I knew the tight resistance she was displaying too well.

Knew she was fighting to hold herself together.

Your mother seemed to know that too.

"Oh dear," she cooed, "I didn't mean to upset you."

"I know you didn't. It's just my husband is in the hospital, and I miss him so much."

Esme's explanation was followed with painful, strangled sobs.

I moved to comfort her.

But your mother was faster than I was.

In a split second she was at Esme's side.

Putting an arm around a woman who was practically a stranger to her.

"I know," she soothed, "Believe me, I know what a struggle it is to love a sick man. I know…"

Your mother closed her eyes.

And when she opened them again, in the seconds before Esme calmed down, I saw wetness there.

"Thank you," Esme smiled.

"You have nothing to thank me for," your mother waved her hand dismissively, "Heaven knows my mind would have gone to the grave with my husband if I hadn't had my son there for me."

Then she looked to the picture Esme had been staring at earlier.

"Is this him?"

She picked up the frame to inspect the photo closer.

And that's when all the enchantment drained from her expression.

Her eyes grew wide.

She froze.

"What did you say his name was?" she asked breathlessly.

"Carlisle," Esme said slowly, just as confused by her behavior as me.

Suddenly your mother was the one who seemed strangled.

"Is he- is he a doctor?" she stuttered.

Esme and I exchanged glances.

"Yes, he is. Do you know him from somewhere?"

Finally your mother broke away from the photo.

"Do I know him?" she echoed, flustered, "Oh, no. No, no. I- I believe I may have a friend who once was a patient of his is all."

Esme and I exchanged glances again.

And you would think lying would come naturally to those seated comfortably at the top of the social totem pole.

Your mother gave an obviously forced snicker.

And she put the photo down.

And slid it across the desk top.

And made certain it was out of her line of vision.

Then she regained her composure.

And said, "My friends are actually what I wanted to speak to you about, Bella. They'll be married 50 years next month. I'm planning a surprise celebration in honor of their anniversary, and there clearly needs to be a cake. I was so impressed with what you came up with for my Edward, I wondered if you might be interested in taking on this as well?"

There was no hesitation to my almost giddy answer, "Absolutely."

"Wonderful," her enchanting smile was there once more.

And then your mother stood.

"I'm terribly sorry for barging in like this. I hadn't the slightest idea what horrid timing it was, what with the repairs going on and everything. Honestly, I didn't mean to cause a scene."

"Its fine, Liz," I said.

"I'll call you soon," she promised.


	31. Chapter 31

Your mother called alright.

When I least expected it.

Immediately after work that Friday, without even giving me a chance to get home, she called.

Called with an invitation to your mansion.

An invitation that was really more like an order to get my ass over there that instant.

And because of who she was, I was not at liberty to refuse.

I left Eric a brief voicemail just prior to arriving.

Incase his newly discovered worries for me happened to display themselves.

The concern he felt was well intentioned.

But it was such a nuisance when trying to keep secrets.

I must have upped my skills of deception a level or two over the course of only a handful of days.

I thought about giving your mother some pointers.

She could definitely use them if she was going to attempt to convince me she didn't know Carlisle.

And I was going to bring that up.

Because it had been eating at Esme.

And I couldn't pass up the opportunity to make her life more livable.

Even though airing out your mother's dirty laundry put me at high risk for indirectly airing out yours.

And I had no desire whatsoever to do that.

But for Esme's sake I would.

For Esme's sake I had to.

My fist collided with the door only once.

And then your mother was there.

"Come in, come in," she beckoned, brimming with enthusiasm.

Two steps into the foyer she sighed as I began following her to, I assumed, the kitchen.

"It was so gracious of you to come straight away from work," she said, as if I'd had a choice, "I would have scheduled a time during regular business hours, but, seeing as this is not necessarily what one would consider regular business, it struck me as more prudent to do it this way."

I had no clue what she meant about this not being 'regular business'.

But then she turned off into a living room furnished with glossy, finished wood and luxuriously stuffed sofas.

And she paraded over to the largest of the sofas.

The one with four separate piles of thick, leather bound books stacked neatly on the cushions.

And filthy rich Elizabeth Mason kicked off her shoes and pulled her legs up to sit Indian style next to the first pile of books.

She motioned for me to take the seat on the side not occupied by the bulky mysteries.

"A social visit between two friends seems a more appropriate description," she grinned as I sat, "Providing you don't mind calling a silly woman like me your friend."

I gawked at her openly.

The knot in my abdomen was distracting me too greatly to control the impulse.

Was this whole thing some kind of ploy to get me alone?

Did she know about us?

Or was she trying to get closer to me in hopes I'd slip and confirm her suspicions?

I tried to remember all of the interrogation tactics I had seen dramatized on the various criminal shows Eric was so fond of…

Beautiful, joyous chortles rang out in the silence of the room.

"Am I making you uncomfortable, Bella?" your mother laughed.

"No," I denied quickly.

Too quickly.

She smiled.

"It's all right. I know I have a tendency to jump the gun at times. My family criticized my spontaneity severely growing up. 'For the love of all that is holy, Elizabeth, _think _before you act!' my mother would always say," the smile turned wistful, "But I never did overcome it."

And then I had to bite my lip to prevent my own chortles from reverberating off the walls.

Apparently your father was not the only parent you inherited traits from.

Your mother took one of the leather books from the stack beside her and set it on her lap.

As she flipped through the pages, I finally identified them as photo albums.

"Ah," she murmured with satisfaction, "Here we are."

She moved the album so that it was balanced between us.

"These are my parents," she pointed to a faded image in the center of the page.

"This is them on their wedding day, and here," she indicated with a delicate finger, "In this corner, is my father 30 years later. The baby he's holding is Edward."

I didn't need for her to tell me who the baby was.

There was no doubt in my mind once I saw the fuzzy mop of bronze hair and the wide, strangely beautiful gold eyes all mixed in with chubby cheeks and toothless exultation.

"He's adorable," I said.

Your mother nodded, blazing with maternal pride.

I ran a hand over my face.

Trying to shake the hurt and the envy and the frustration.

Then your mother asked, "Do you ever see yourself becoming a mother?"

And that made all of the horrible feelings worse.

My reply was stiff, "I really doubt it."

She looked up at me curiously.

I turned my attention to the man standing behind your grandfather's shoulder in the photo.

The one she hadn't mentioned.

"Who's that?"

I wanted to divert her away from the touchy subject.

But a second look at the man I was pointing to had me filled with regret before she could even utter, "My late husband."

Because there was no question in my mind who it was once I saw the eyes that matched yours.

The resemblance was striking.

So much so it was almost eerie.

Eerie.

Just like the music room.

Just like the smile that somehow didn't sit right on your father's face.

I scrutinized his image more closely, trying to place what was off.

Your mother took it as a cue to continue speaking.

"Yes…His name was Edward as well, but he preferred to be called Eddie. We were quite the rebellious pair, he and I. Both of us came from a world of money we despised. We did everything possible to spite that world. Our families hated the fact that we were together, so, naturally, we got married."

Her complete openness, especially about this apparently sensitive topic, came as a shock.

I wondered if she would go on, as marriage was obviously not the ending to the story.

But she only kissed her fingertips and touched them to the photographed image of your father in silence.

"Dashing, wasn't he?" she asked, placing her hand back in her lap.

"Very," I said.

The urge to pry was there, but the transparent fragility I'd never known your mother to possess kept my mouth shut.

And the moment passed.

And your mother shook her head, putting on a smile.

"Listen to me," she sighed, "I promised myself when I brought these out here I wouldn't bore you with stories of my past, and here I am wasting your time. You'll have to forgive me, Bella."

"You're not boring me," I assured her, "But I was wondering what the albums were for."

She began to turn a few pages of the one in her lap, searching again.

"I'm preparing you. I want the anniversary party to be a surprise, and that complicates matters. You see, I can't introduce my friends to you in person without giving away my plans. At the same time, though," she grinned triumphantly, finding the photo she was looking for, "I imagine you need to get a sense of them in order to create something they'd enjoy."

"It's just a damn cake," I wanted to say, "As long as it's edible, I think they'll enjoy it just fine."

But if your mother wanted to go to such extreme measures as calling me over to her home and flashing her personal life in my face for the sake of a dessert that 'captured the essence' of her friends…

Well, that was her prerogative.

And I wasn't going to complain.

Because being here all but guaranteed I would see you tonight.

My skin warmed at the thought.

*

Ten minutes into what must have been your mother's 12th story about Aro and Sulpicia, you got home from school.

"….Eddie had been working for Aro for five years at the time," your mother was explaining, "That was the day-"

She stopped suddenly.

Hearing the distant opening and closing of the front door.

Hearing the soft murmurs of conversation following it.

I heard it too.

"It's only Edward," your mother told me, "He must have brought someone home with him."

"Mom!" you called not a second later.

"In here, sweetie!" she shouted back.

I guessed shouting was the only way to communicate in a house this size.

Your mother got up from the couch and walked over to stand by the doorway.

When you met her there, she embraced you.

I expected you to cower away from such blatant paternal affection.

But you only returned the gesture.

"How was school?" your mother asked as she let you go.

"Boring," you said, and I didn't understand the intense concern that filled your eyes as you looked at her.

"Mom, are you okay?" your voice became terrified, "Did something happen today? Did you- Are you-"

She lifted a hand to the collar of your shirt and straightened it in a soothing manner, "I'm perfectly fine. Don't worry yourself."

"Are you sure? I can tell everyone to leave," you offered.

Your mother waved dismissively, "Who all is here?"

"Jasper, Alice, and Tanya. We're working on a history project together."

"That's nice," she smiled, "I don't think I've met Tanya before. Who is she?"

You shrugged, "Just another girl from school."

Your mother's expression turned quizzical, "Is she pretty?"

"Mom," you groaned, "Please."

"Alright, alright," she laughed, "I'll let you get to work. Actually, Bella and I are busy on a project of our own."

I liked the way your body visibly shifted and became more alert when she said my name.

"Bella?" you said, finally taking in the room behind your mother.

I waved meekly from the couch.

And the instant you saw me, I understood what Jessica meant when she said my eyes lit up when the phone rang.

Because the oddly beautiful eyes you'd gotten from your father did just that as they locked on to mine.

Thankfully, your mother was looking at me too.

"Yes," she told you, "I'm introducing her to Aro and Sulpicia through ulterior methods."

You noticed the book open in my lap.

"Through our photos?" you asked, horrified.

"You were cute when you were a baby," I supplied in a purposely sweet tone.

"Thanks," you muttered in a humiliated, not-so-thankful voice.

Your mother laughed again.

"You'd better get back to your friends before they come looking for you," she advised.

You nodded in agreement, then disappeared down the hall.

Your mother started to return to the couch, but twirled around halfway there.

"Oh, Edward?"

You backed up, peeking in the doorway, "Yeah?"

"Why don't you invite them to stay for dinner?"

"Okay."

With a swift glance in my direction, you vanished once more.

*

Placing your mother in a kitchen is like dropping an atomic bomb on a city.

She'd convinced me to help her cook dinner.

She thought my expertise would help with her lack thereof.

But she didn't need my help.

She needed an entire _fleet _of assistance.

Somehow, I wasn't sure exactly how it happened, but somehow your mother had managed to burn everything.

The chicken was black.

The potatoes were black.

Hell, even the pasta looked black.

I scurried over to the cabinets.

Searching for herbs, spices, anything that could salvage the taste.

"Bella, I'm sorry," your mother said, defeated, "I've ruined the entire meal."

"It's not ruined," I tried to lie, "It's…crisp."

Loud thumps announced the arrival of you and your companions as you all descended down the stairs into the kitchen.

"What's that smell?" the one I took to be Jasper asked, wrinkling his nose.

Your mother and I winced in unison.

You sighed, "Mom, please tell me you didn't try to cook again."

"I hoped Bella might be able to correct my mistakes..."

"The entire kitchen staff couldn't do that."

She winced a second time at the memory your words evoked.

"You'll get it eventually, Liz," Alice encouraged brightly.

"If it makes you feel any better," Tanya chimed in with all her pretty, strawberry blond glory, "I'm hopeless in the kitchen, too."

Your mother threw an enchanting smile at her, "You must be Tanya."

Tanya smiled back.

And it was a beautiful, youthful smile that was painful to look at.

"It's nice to meet you, Ms. Mason."

"Liz," Alice, Jasper, and you all corrected simultaneously before your mother could even open her mouth to do so.

Your mother rolled her eyes.

You all laughed.

And Tanya was just confused.

I decided it was the imperfect time to serve the imperfect food.

I was already standing by the cabinets by the time I realized I had no idea where you kept your dishes.

"Where are the plates?" I questioned to the group.

"Oh," your mother said, "Here, let me-"

"I'll help her," you volunteered, "We'll meet you in the dining room."

I was warm again and my pulse accelerated at the possibility of being alone with you.

Your mother kissed your cheek.

"Thank you," she said, as if you were being a good person by offering to help me serve instead of letting her do it.

But once everyone had left.

Once their footsteps could no longer be heard.

Once their chatter had faded away completely.

You grabbed my waist and pressed me up against the counter.

And I knew you weren't being a good person at all.

"Do you know how badly I wanted to touch you today? Right in front of my mom?" you whispered.

"I'm glad you didn't," I said quietly as my breathing became harsher.

My hands danced, unbidden, over your shoulders.

And then that harsh breathing transformed into a strangled gasp as you palmed my breasts through my clothes.

I arched involuntarily against you.

"I couldn't concentrate on anything, knowing you were here," you murmured, "The others might as well have started the project without me I was so useless. You took control of _everything_ in my mind."

You squeezed me, eliciting another gasp.

"Sometimes," you leaned into my ear, "It's like you're the only thing in the world that matters."

I twisted my fingers fiercely into your hair and forced your mouth down to mine.

It wasn't what I should have done.

It wasn't even remotely close to what I should have done.

But that was, without contest, the sexiest thing anyone had ever said to me.

Because it meant so much.

More than you knew.

It meant more than you knew to be told I was the _only _thing that mattered.

After spending so long being told everything else mattered more.

And I felt so important.

And dangerously empowered.

And I didn't care about plates or black food or Tanya's smile.

Because _this _was what mattered.

_We _were what mattered.

You gripped my hips as I writhed shamelessly.

And when I unfastened the button on your pants, a wicked glimmer shot through your eyes.

And then my legs were wrapped around you.

And you were pounding into me.

Muffling our cries as much as possible with our kisses.

And sometime later I would lie in bed thinking about how easily Alice or Jasper or Tanya or, worst of all, your mother, could have walked in and saw us.

And I would break out in a cold sweat.

But that was later.

While it was happening, I couldn't think of anything.

Except for you, of course.

*

"Did you get lost in there?" Alice asked as we finally got around to bringing in dinner.

"You could say that," you smirked, "I think someone rearranged the cabinets."

Your mother sighed, "Well, I suppose there isn't very much difference between hot burnt chicken and cold. It will taste awful either way."

The disappointment in her voice was clear to everyone.

And, as the meal progressed, we all made an effort to disguise our groans of disgust as moans of pleasure.

You sat next to Tanya.

And she talked and smiled and flipped her hair a lot.

Enough to make her fondness of you painfully obvious.

And sometimes you would smile back at her.

And that bothered me the most.

Once I turned to your mother to see if she noticed the blatant flirtation.

And I found she was watching you and Tanya too.

And she met my gaze, nodded discreetly toward the pair of you, and winked.

I was too nauseas to eat anymore after that.

Alice and Jasper made a show of themselves as well.

They were sitting directly across from me.

And whenever I would look up from my plate, they would be purposely touching arms.

Or holding hands on top of the table.

Or caressing one another's cheek.

I even saw them steal a kiss once.

I pondered what they were doing under the table….

But soon decided I was better off not knowing.

I caught you staring at their entwined hands.

How they were placed so boldly on the table cloth.

That was one of the few times I dared to make eye contact with you.

And your stare was longing.

Stupidly longing for us to be able to show affection so openly.

I looked away quickly.

Because we would never be that couple.

But you and the girl beside you could.

And I asked myself, as I pushed dry pasta around with my fork, how long would it be until you figured that fact out for yourself?

Emmett arrived then.

Suddenly, out of the blue, he arrived and marched into the dining room.

The big guy who I knew as a friend of your family.

The big guy who knew me as the older woman you were screwing.

The same one who'd instructed you not to continue you're involvement with me.

Because he'd been there before, and it hadn't ended well.

And all I could think was:

_Oh, boy._

"Hey, everybody," he said to the table with a broad grin, "I didn't miss supper, did I?"

"Nonsense, Emmett," your mother smiled, "I'm sure there is plenty left on the stove. Go fix yourself a plate."

He pecked your mother's cheek in what seemed a gesture of respect, "You're the best, Liz."

"He won't be saying that once he sees the disaster waiting for him," your mother commented after Emmett had left.

You shook your head, "Emmett will eat anything."

"Oh, like you won't!" Alice teased.

You merely shrugged.

And I could believe what she was saying.

Unlike most of us who couldn't stomach more than a few bites of the catastrophe, your plate was nearly bare.

Emmett sat in the empty chair beside you.

"Hey, kid," he greeted.

I presumed his other nickname for you wasn't appropriate to be used in front of your mother.

"Hey," you responded.

And the two of you engaged in a strange sort of handshake probably dreamed up in the midst of your childhood.

"So, what's up?" you asked afterwards.

You tried to sound casual, but even I could tell the curiosity behind the question was burning.

And as I observed you, listening to Emmett's tale of getting fired from his job as a hot dog vendor with all-consuming absorption and awe, I realized you idolized Emmett.

The way a little brother may idolize his older sibling.

Or maybe the way a son might idolize his father….

And I turned to your mother and saw her smiling at you in all your absorbed awe.

And I knew it was because she was glad you could have the male influence your life was so obviously devoid of.

Although, whether an ex-hot dog vendor was a good influence or not, I wasn't entirely sure.

Emmett didn't notice me until it was time to clear the table.

It wasn't because I stood up and started to stack dishes.

It was because your mother said, "Oh Bella, you don't have to do all that."

And my name spilled from her mouth to his ears.

And Emmett looked up at me.

And then he looked at you looking at me.

And his chin set.

And I knew he was furious.

"I met a girl yesterday, kid," he said, speaking to you but staring at me, "She was the most amazing girl I've seen in a long time. Real down to earth and hot as hades. But, you know, I couldn't bring myself to ask her out. 'Cos after all these years, I'm still hung up on Rose."

"It's horrible, what that woman did to you, Emmett," your mother said angrily, "If I ever was given the chance to speak to her, I would give her a piece of my mind. Despicable people like that shouldn't be given a rightful place in society, let alone become college professors."

"I know," he said, eying me even more intently, "But no one knows where she is now. She doesn't want to be found, and Rose always got what she wanted."

I finished stacking.

And left the room as fast as possible.

I didn't want to hear anymore.

*

The evening was coming to a close.

I stood in the hall as Alice, Jasper, and Tanya bid their goodbyes.

Taking note as Tanya's hand lingered on your arm for a little too long to be altogether casual.

"Come back soon," your mother called, shutting the door behind them.

I felt a great relief with the click of that door.

There were only two other people aside from us now.

Even if Emmett made me more uncomfortable than Alice, Jasper, and Tanya combined.

I knew I needed to get home too.

But I needed to talk to you first.

So I said to your mother, "I need to use your bathroom, but I can't remember exactly where it is. Do you mind-"

"I'll show you," you said, just like I knew you would.

I tried to ignore Emmett glaring at us as we walked out of hearing range.

"Can I see you tonight?" I had to know.

Our time in the kitchen had been an unexpected turn of luck.

But it wasn't enough.

When it came to you, there would never be enough.

You frowned.

And I could feel the depth of my disappointment all the way in my stomach.

We came to the bathroom and you still hadn't answered.

I took your hand, pulling you inside and shutting the door behind us.

And I pressed you against the door much like you had pressed me against the counter.

"Why not?" I demanded.

Because the fact that you hadn't said anything was saying 'no' in and of itself.

"Emmett wants to talk to me," you muttered finally.

Then I frowned, "He's angry with you, isn't he? He could tell you're still…not following his advice."

"I think so."

I pictured Emmett.

Pictured his anger.

And the size of him.

All alone with you.

"Do you think…he'll hurt you?"

"No," you said without hesitation, "He'd never do that. I'm glad you worry about me, though."

You smiled, encircling your arms around me.

And I did worry about you, I discovered.

Even imagining a scenario in which you were harmed, in any way, sent shudders of terror down my spine.

And I didn't know what to do with this new development other than hold you tight and kiss you.

So that's what I did.

*

When I got home that night, I walked in the door to find Eric, Mike, and Tyler lounging together in the living room.

They were all staring hypnotically at the television screen with partially empty beer bottles and bags of chips strewn close by.

"You're just getting home from work, Bella?" Mike asked, a bit shocked.

Eric and Tyler broke away from their trances to stare at me.

"Yeah," I yawned, "Long day."

"Do you want to watch this movie with us?" Tyler offered, "It's pretty good."

The sound of his voice reminded me of Lauren.

Her appointment.

The baby neither of them wanted to have.

And I didn't think I could stand being in the same room with Tyler even if I was awake enough to consider joining them.

"You guys go ahead. I'm going to hit the sack."

"There's leftover pizza in the fridge if you want it," Eric said.

I was momentarily impressed that he'd put it in the fridge all on his own.

But I was too tired to express that feeling.

"Already ate," I mumbled, starting toward the stairs.

"Love you, babe," he said.

I waved a hand behind me to acknowledge his words but said nothing.

I was halfway up to the second floor when Mike spoke.

He must have thought I was too far up to hear him.

But I heard him just fine when he said, "I'm starting to think Jess was telling the truth about her."

"No. Not Bella," was Eric's response.

And I heard that just fine too.

**A/N: So this is, I'm almost positive, the longest chapter thus far in TDTD. I never intended it that way, but I'm proud of it just the same. I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. **

****Sulpicia is actually Aro's wife in the Twilight Saga for anyone wondering. I actually had to research that. I needed a couple who had been around for a long time, and who has been around longer than the Volturi? Anyway, interesting name.**

**And, yes, Emmett's older woman was indeed Rose. I'm not sure at this point if anymore details about their relationship will come out, but we'll see.**

**One more thing I'd like to mention before I let you all go, the relationship between Edward and his mom (who is Liz for anyone confused, not Esme). This chapter is very much about shedding light on the relationships Edward has with his friends and family. The dynamic between Edward and Emmett is something Bella explains pretty clearly. The dynamic between Edward and Liz is not quite as cut and dry. **

**Edward and Liz are very close. They have always shared a bond, but it transcended to another universe after Eddie died (you will know how he died before this is over, I promise). I will throw a minor spoiler out there and say that Edward was not asking Liz if she was okay because she has some sort deadly illness. She does not. But keep in mind the Liz that Bella, essentially her employee, knows and the Liz that Edward, her son, knows are not exactly the same people. Liz relies on Edward so much more than Bella or most anyone else realizes.**

**If you guys have any questions or are wondering about something, feel free to type a review and ask. If you don't, then I would still love to know what you're thinking. **

**I believe my longest chapter has now been concluded with my longest A/N. I will TRY to update soon.**


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